Into Heaven We Gazed
by Lysha
Summary: Suburban AU. Young down-and-out Horo is sucked into the belly of a dark conspiracy when he meets the troubled stranger, Ren. The two must work together to free themselves of their own personal demons, all the while trying to unravel the mystery of Ren's past. Updates Tuesdays and Fridays.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Thank you for checking out '_Into Heaven We Gazed'_. This story has been a long labour of love, and I'd be so grateful if you could take the time to leave a review. The story is fully written, and I will add updates here twice weekly, on Tuesdays and Fridays. Hope you enjoy!

Cover illustration by the super talented giuliablackcat - check her out on Instagram.

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**CHAPTER 1**

He could walk for miles. On and on, feet pounding furiously at the pavement beneath him. In this drunken stupor, he could walk forever.

Usui Horokeu was twenty-four years old, and carried the world on his young shoulders. Despite his age, he was weary of his existence. He had no desire to die – he had grown tired of that idea a long time ago. Now all he had left was a desire to escape. That was why, more often than not, he was to be found drowning his sorrows in a bar somewhere in the bustling city, and then walking to its outskirts to stumble through its forgotten streets.

And that was the very place he was to be found at this moment, walking at a fury-fired pace through an old industrial estate, a ruin of the modern world. The sun was waning to the chill of the twilight glow, making the buildings around him seem like huge skeletons, looming over the dirt track on which he walked. Some of the buildings had windows punched out, the gaping spaces where they once were akin to deep-set eyes, focusing upon this lone figure that travelled, a little unsteadily, in their midst. Occasionally, the exhausted remains of a truck appeared on the horizon, large and somewhat terrifying. Like a creature from a nightmare, bruised and rotting slowly, it materialised on the edge of his wavering vision. These inanimate entities were the only things around. Even the rats stayed out of this place, with no obvious food source to draw them there. And so the wind was left to rattle ominously through the hollow shells of the factories and office buildings that once stood here, now looking even more repugnant than when they were first built.

What Horo really wanted was nature. He wanted to be surrounded by untamed forests, or deep fields of wildflowers, with the smoky smell of autumn embracing him like an old friend. He took a deep breath, eyes closed, half expecting to be able to catch that scent on the wind. Instead, all he got was a mouthful of stale, pollution-ridden air that made him choke and splutter. No matter how far he walked, he would never reach the countryside. At least, that was how he felt. He lived so far into the city, almost every spindly little tree around him had been planted by humans. There was nothing natural, nothing _fresh_.

Horo never drank himself to the point where he couldn't control his own actions. What he sought was the ability to lose his sense of awareness, to lose himself in the desolate places that he wandered to. As he looked around, he realised that he had achieved just that; he had lost reason and with it, the ability to choose_._ Though the landscape was similar here from beginning to end, like a copy-and-paste of the same monstrous buildings, there was a certain sense of peace in this spot that he knew he had never found before. He halted dead in his tracks for a moment, and drank in the feeling. The old factory he stood before was not remarkable in any way, sitting in the same dreary state as all the others nearby. But there was something about where he stood, a sensation that felt as though it would be lost should he take another step in either direction. It was a feeling of emptiness, nothing more. A feeling of... nothing. Horo squeezed his fingers tightly into his palms and closed his eyes. Yes, _this_ was the feeling he craved. Nothing to think, nothing to feel.

As Horo stood, facing this building, breathing in deeply as though he were trying to inhale the whole experience, he slowly became aware of something else, something more acute. A voice.

It was gentle and unwavering. It was _singing_. Horo's eyebrows knitted together in confusion as he opened his eyes and glanced around himself. There was certainly nobody around him, probably not for at least a few miles in any direction. And yet... there was _definitely_ someone singing. As Horo listened, he became all the more sure of the fact. Focusing on the calming melody, it became apparent that what he could hear was a church hymn.

For a brief moment, he was transported to the rural parish of his childhood, where his parents had sung praises routinely every Sunday, where his four-year old heart had barely been able to comprehend the 'glory of God'...

Almost subconsciously, he took two steps forward. The singing seemed to get louder. The voice was, oddly enough, coming from inside the old factory right in front of him. The prospect of this drew Horo even closer, the door of the wretched building firmly in his sights. The voice reverberated in his ear drums, pitch-perfect and almost soothing. A great desire to find the source of that wonderful sound gripped him. He reached out to the handle of the door. The entrance was as normal as it could be, which somehow made it all the more strange. It looked considerably fresher than the rest of the rickety old structure. Horo pulled down on the handle, and suddenly, the words of the hymn became clear.

"_While I draw this fleeting breath, when my eyelids close in death..."_

The voice continued on, unfaltering, as Horo stepped into a vast room he didn't think the building capable of holding. Around the edges of this space were relics from when the building was once used for industry; old crates and dusty boxes, gathered in tall piles that dominated the walls and blocked the view of the lower windows. The higher, second-storey windows were all that was left to let in the dim dusk light. He could see right up to them, through the ceiling that had crumbled away, up into the neglected old roof. His eyes finally came to settle in the centre of the room. Somehow, what he saw, he almost expected. An assembly of mismatched church pews, styles and designs abundant, were gathered together and laid out in neat lines. All of them faced what appeared to be an altar, consisting of a statue raised on a structure of low-lying crates. He couldn't tell what the statue was from a distance. The only way to see it was to get closer.

"_When I soar through tracts unknown, see thee on thy judgement throne..."_

As Horo took a step, he was reminded of that haunting voice. The melody of the song was endearingly doleful. Horo felt his heart beat firmly against his chest, as though it were demanding to understand what the sound was. The song crashed over him like a wave, and urged him closer to the peculiar scene in the middle of the room. It was then that Horo cast his eyes upon a slender male figure, crouched at the altar's base.

"_Rock of ages, cleft for me, let me hide myself in thee."_

Horo let the last note of the song ring out and echo around him in all its perfection, before stopping just before the first of the pews and calling out gently, "Hello?"

The person at the altar stood and whipped around. It was a young man, with violet hair and cat-like eyes. He was small and frail-looking, wearing nothing more than a short cotton shift. Most notably, he was holding a knife. His right hand shook violently as he jabbed the weapon in Horo's direction.

Horo flinched at the sight of the blade, belatedly. The alcohol in his bloodstream was stifling his reactions.

"Who are you?" the young man demanded, in a tone more threatening than he seemed capable of.

"I'm nobody, really!" He threw up his hands in the air as a sign of peace. The stranger already seemed a hairsbreadth away from snapping. He didn't want to be the one that caused him to flip. "I just came in here because I heard the singing. I'm sorry!"

"You're not here to stop me?"

"Stop you from what?"

The stranger didn't respond. Slowly, he turned his back, and Horo saw the knife twist in his hands. For the first time, Horo saw the cuts on the skin of his forearm. The blade was now poised in line with the young man's stomach. One sharp thrust and it would…

"Oh, hey! Wait!" Horo dashed forward a few steps, without much prior thought. "Why are you doing that?"

The stranger didn't turn around. "He needs to die. There's nothing I can do."

A quick scan of the room told Horo there was no one else nearby. He was obviously referring to himself.

"Now listen to me, whatever you think you've done wrong, whatever's happened, this doesn't have to be the solution, you hear me?"

The knife drifted; he was hesitating. "And what _is_ the solution?"

"I honestly don't know," Horo admitted. The knife wandered closer. "But! If you come here and talk to me… just put down the knife, and we'll talk. If I know a bit more, I can help you." He doubted the weight of his own words, but he had to say something, _anything,_ to get that knife out of his hands. He would figure the rest out later.

"Help… me?" The young man seemed to find that almost amusing, a tight smile on his face when he turned around. "It's not _me_ that needs help, it's-"

Without warning, the stranger's body crumpled beneath him. He fell to his knees with a cry of pain. The knife clattered to the dirt floor.

Horo panicked. He rushed forwards, tripping over his own feet in a clumsy stupor to reach the young man's side. He was doubled-over and clutching desperately at his sides, tears brimming in his darkly-circled eyes. Horo fell to his knees beside him with worry.

"Are you okay?"

The stranger spluttered with tears, in a voice that was far more emotional now. "It hurts..."

"What does?" Horo reached out to place his hands on the young man's frail shoulders, desperate to get a better look at him. "Hey, let me see you, I-"

"No!" The stranger screamed and flailed his arms out wildly, batting Horo's hands away. "Don't touch me! Please, don't..." He collapsed back into position, tears rolling down his sunken cheeks.

Horo shot back, alarmed by the sudden reaction. "Okay, okay! I won't." His mind was at once overwhelmed. He cast his eyes over the stranger as he considered what to do. In addition to the fresh wounds on his forearms, Horo noticed countless small scratches and bruises all over his body. Some of them looked alarmingly similar to fingernail tracks.

Horo shook himself, trying to bring himself out of the haze that the alcohol had left him in. He needed to think straight. "Listen, you need my help. What's your name?"

The young man bent over even further, his nose almost touching the cold dirt floor. He was shaking violently. "M-My name? My name is... Ren."

"Okay, Ren. I'm Horo. I'm here to help you. We're going to get you to a hospital or something, you can't carry on like this."

"N-No. I'm not going anywhere. I-I'm staying here."

"What do you mean? You're obviously not well. Don't worry, I won't hurt you, just let me..." Horo reached out gently to take one of Ren's fragile hands in his.

Ren snatched it away as though Horo's touch were pure fire. His tears came faster. "I said don't touch me! Please, just leave me b-be..."

Horo withdrew his hand, his mind working over-time. "Can you stand?"

Ren's body twitched as though he was trying to get to his feet, but he didn't move an inch from the ground. The effort seemed too much, and his breathing quickened. Horo reached out once more to steady him. This time, Ren didn't resist. Horo watched his chest heaving, and his eyelids drooping. Horo just managed to catch him as he passed out cold.

Without a second thought or even a moment to consider, Horo got to his feet, the broken stranger still in his arms. Though he had tensed his muscles to brace the weight of the body, he soon found it was unnecessary. Ren's form was so slight, he barely weighed more than a large house cat. As Horo stood there, alone in this foreboding sanctuary, he gazed upon the still face of the young man in his arms. Even in this unexpected slumber, he still didn't seem to be at ease.

Something was very wrong with this stranger, that would make him so very weary and cause him to do such harm to himself. At the moment, Horo couldn't bear to comprehend what his troubles could be. All he knew was his desire to help. And so, though his head was pounding and his heart sang out with worry, Horo grasped Ren close and began the long walk back into the city.

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**A/N: **IHWG has a soundtrack that has influenced the story quite heavily. Check these author's notes for a track list as we go! First up, it's '_Sober'_ by Tool.

The hymn Ren was singing is _'Rock of Ages'_ by A.M. Toplady.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Sipping the water from the tall glass in his hands certainly helped to clear his head. The chill of the it made his back teeth ache and numbed his hands as he held on to it. He looked up at Eliza, who was still watching him from across the room. She smiled softly, and turned her head back to the paperwork on the desk. He knew that she worried about him. In fact, she had to go out of her way many a time for him as a result of his drinking. Sometimes he managed to injure himself. Once, he had suffered severe dehydration from the sheer amount of alcohol he had ingested and the vomiting that followed. But no matter how irresponsible his actions were, Eliza and her husband never closed their doors on him.

Even now, though the clinic had been closed for hours, they didn't turn him away. When Horo arrived on the doorstep, exhausted and head spinning with Ren in his arms, Eliza had helped them inside, her usual concerned expression on her face. It wasn't long before Faust had appeared, and whisked Ren away into the emergency room, while Eliza was left to stay with the rather bleary-eyed Horo in the waiting room. It was here they now sat; Eliza pretending to busy herself with documents, and Horo slumped in a plastic chair, sipping slowly at the water with the high hope of alleviating the sickness that was bothering him so. He pressed his fingers to his temple, rubbing circles at the skin in an attempt to clear the ache that was growing there.

As usual, Eliza didn't miss a trick. "Can I get you some painkillers?"

"It's fine, really," Horo insisted, closing his eyes. He heard the sound of Eliza putting her pen down on the desk.

"You know how bad this is for you, don't you, Horokeu? Why do you keep doing it to yourself?" Though her message was disapproving, there was not even a hint of anger in Eliza's voice. All he could hear was her worry.

Still, Horo sighed to himself. Every time he came here, they had the same conversation. But things never changed. Faust had gotten to the point where he just accepted it as a flaw of Horo's character, a part of him that would never go away. At first, Horo had been offered all the help under the sun. But each time, he flat out refused, until Faust just stopped asking altogether. But neither Faust nor his wife ever stopped caring for Horo. It was almost as if – having never reared any children of their own – they saw Horo as their troublesome teenage son. They were always the figures in his life that would not shirk away from scolding him, and also the only people who would help to clean his wounds, whether emotional or physical, after a stumble. It was an unspoken relationship, but Horo appreciated it deeply. There was nowhere else he'd rather go for help.

"Don't worry about me. I did this to myself, I can deal with the consequences. You should be worrying about him," Horo said, opening his eyes and casting them subconsciously to the door of the emergency room.

"What happened to that poor boy?"

"I honestly don't know," Horo slouched lower in the chair, tipping his head back so that it rested on the wall behind him. "I found him that way, I had to help him."

"I'm glad you brought him to us," Eliza said, smiling.

"Who else would I turn to?" Horo said, truthfully. Johann Faust and his wife were incredibly experienced practitioners of medicine. They had opened their small clinic in the middle of the city almost fourteen years ago, and though their patients were mostly elderly, their medical knowledge was second to none. Horo would have trusted no one else with the life of that mysterious young man. "Say, how long have they been in there now?"

"About half an hour. I'll check on them." Eliza stood up and walked around the desk, smoothing down her pink uniform as she went. Her heels tapped loudly at the tiled floor as she headed for the emergency room door.

Horo breathed out deeply as he sank into the silence. He was feeling considerably better. He just hoped the same could be said for Ren. He thought for a moment over that thin frame and piercing golden eyes. He thought again of that peculiar old building and that haunting song. None of it made sense. He wondered if it was right to push Ren for answers, considering the state that he was in.

When the door opened, both Faust and Eliza emerged. Faust took long strides to reach the seat next to Horo. Eliza perched on the edge of the desk.

The doctor began pulling off his white examination gloves as he spoke, wrestling his fingers for a moment through his shock of blonde hair.

"The good news is he'll be fine," Faust said, in his gravelly German accent. "The bad news is that his recovery might be a slow one. No doubt you've already noticed his many external wounds – bruises, grazes, burns and pressure ulcers. Then there are the recent self-inflicted lacerations on his arms. But he also has numerous internal injuries, such as severe bruising to the ribs and evidence of broken and fractured bones that have recently healed. He also appears to be dehydrated and his BMI is completely irregular."

Horo shook his head gently, willing away his queasiness as he listened to the terrible list.

Faust's thin, bluish lips were pursed as he continued. "Then, there is some damage-"

"Wait, there's more?" Horo interrupted, alarm in his voice.

"Unfortunately yes," Faust sighed, the dark circles under his eyes looking blacker by the minute. "Things are rather serious, I'm afraid."

Horo clutched his hand around his stomach and took a cautious sip of water. "I don't think I want to hear any more."

"But Horokeu, there is something…"

"Please, Faust. I can't deal with this right now," Horo pleaded.

Faust considered him for a moment, blue eyes passing over his trembling body. "Okay. For now." The doctor got to his feet, standing to his full tremendous height. "I'm afraid we can't offer your friend a bed, as you know."

"Don't worry, you've been a huge help already. I really appreciate it," Horo forced a grateful smile. He was tired enough without having to spout pleasantries, but his conscience warned him against being impolite. "Can I go see him?"

Faust nodded, and Horo got to his feet. The floor quaked beneath him as he stood, threatening to knock him off balance. Faust caught his arm as though for support, but as he drew near, he put his mouth close to Horo's ear and said, quietly, "Next time I see you… you'd better have a good explanation as to where you found this young man." Faust's suspicious expression made him uneasy and he glanced back to Eliza for reassurance. But she had already turned her back and was hunched over an open drawer in the desk. He nodded quickly and broke Faust's grip, hurrying now to the emergency room door.

Inside, Ren lay motionless on a stretcher, his violet hair strewn across the pillow beneath his head. The tools of Faust's trade lay neatly positioned on shelves and trolleys around the room. There were machines that monitored heart rate, blood pressure and myriad other devices that Horo didn't even recognise. Thankfully, none of them were attached to Ren. He lay in peace, as though sleeping, beneath a plain white sheet.

As the door thudded shut behind him, Ren's eyes shot open, as wide as saucers. His hands gripped at the sheets beneath him desperately, as though scouting for something solid. His chest heaved with panicky breaths and his pupils searched wildly around the white-washed room.

Horo took a few brisk steps to Ren's bedside. "Hey, it's alright! I'm here."

Ren turned his head sharply to look at him. "Where am I?" He demanded, tone vicious.

"It's okay, you're safe," Horo insisted, gently. "I brought you to get some help. That's where you are."

"No... no! I need to go back! Take me back!" The tears welled up in Ren's eyes, and his breathing became more erratic still. Horo watched beads of sweat roll down his face.

"You'll be able to go back! Soon!" Horo said. The lie came easy in his desperation to calm Ren down. He didn't know how true his statement was. He didn't know what Ren was doing in that old building, but whatever was going on, he wasn't even considering sending him back there.

"I... I can?" Horo watched Ren's fingers loosen on the sheets. The hope in his voice was almost heart-wrenching.

"Yes, soon," Horo nodded. "Just wait a little while, and trust me, okay?"

Ren's eyes surveyed him silently. Horo felt the guilt sink over him as Ren nodded warily. But what else could he do? If Ren got himself any more worked up, considering his injuries, he could really have done himself some harm. Ren stared at him expectantly, as though waiting for some immediate instruction that would get him home there and then. Horo fidgeted uneasily under his unwavering gaze.

A full minute passed before Faust entered the room, breaking the uncomfortable silence. He walked straight over to Ren's bedside. "How are you feeling?"

Ren flinched, as though Faust were striking him rather than talking to him. He said nothing.

"I think he's a little shaken," Horo answered for him. "But he seems to be fine. I think he just needs to rest."

"Shall I help you bring him to the car?"

Horo watched the way Ren's body was tensed, the way he glared at Faust defensively. "No, it's okay. I can handle it. Can you just wait outside for us please?"

Faust left, with a nod of assent. As the door closed behind him, Ren's voice wavered out with concern.

"Did that man... touch me?"

Horo turned back to look at him, and saw the tears resurfacing. "No, he hasn't," Horo lied again, shaking his head softly.

Ren looked up at him once more with that worried stare. He watched the look sink into trust as Ren nodded again, satisfied.

"Now, you're going to have to come with me," Horo said, as gently as he could.

"Where are we going?"

"To my place. It's safe there too. There's a car waiting outside to take us." He found himself talking to Ren as though he were a child, though he couldn't say why. Judging by his appearance, he must have only been a few years younger than Horo himself. Yet he gave off an air of innocence that, when coupled with his blind trust, gave him an undeniably childlike quality. At least thinking like that made it so much easier to lie to him.

"I know you don't like people to touch you, and that's fine. It just means that you're going to have to walk to the car yourself. Do you think you can do that?"

Ren thought for a moment, then nodded. Without another word, he shuffled carefully to the end of the bed. Horo stood nearby, in case he needed to catch hold of him. He gently slid off, feet touching the ground delicately.

"Everything okay?" Horo asked.

Another nod, more determined this time. He hung back to let Horo led the way. Eliza waited at the exit with Horo's coat in her hands. Ren looked about, puzzled, as Horo placed it over his bare shoulders. His filthy cotton shift had been replaced with a clean white hospital gown, but it wasn't any more modest.

"I hope you feel better," Eliza nodded at Ren. "We'll see you in a few days."

Horo grinned apologetically when Ren didn't respond. "Good night. Thank Faust again for me too."

Ren was focused outside, and as he followed Horo out in to the street, his pupils danced wildly, trying desperately to take in the sights around him. The night was well into its stretch, the darkness penetrated only by the countless street lamps lining the city streets. Despite the hour, cars still careered down the road, their engines intrusive to the silence. A few people walked by, laughing and talking, no doubt on their way home after a long night of partying. Their taxi sat in front of them, its engine impatiently running. Horo opened one of the rear doors and signalled for Ren to get inside. But Ren was looking everywhere except in his direction. He was transfixed with the world around him, recoiling a little at the sound of a car horn, and staring intently after a couple that walked by, holding on to each other. He craned his neck to look up into the night sky and see the full height of the buildings that towered above them.

"Ren?"

At the sound of his name, Ren looked back suddenly, as though shocked to hear it.

Horo smiled gently, and gestured again. "Come on."

Ren's eyes fell now to the car in front of him. Horo watched him tug the jacket on his shoulders tighter around himself as he realised what Horo was telling him to do. "It's okay, I'm coming with you. You're safe."

Ren gingerly approached the open door. He crawled on his hands and knees on to the seat, then shuffled around so that he could sit down.

"Fasten your seatbelt, okay?" Horo said, smiling to him one last time and closing the door. He climbed into the passenger seat, where the driver waited solemnly behind the wheel. He was a weary middle-aged man with a long nose and gnarled knuckles. His car smelt like sickly incense.

"Is everything alright?" the man asked.

"Yeah, everything's fine." Horo turned around to look back at Ren. "Ren, your seatbelt," he reminded him.

Ren stared blankly in response.

Horo frowned to himself as he took hold of his own seatbelt and pulled it in demonstration. "Like this?" He clicked it into place, and looked to Ren for a response. The driver watched with curiosity through the rear-view mirror.

Ren looked around himself, first right, then left. Spotting the belt, he took hold of it and pulled on it unsurely. He stared at Horo, waiting for acknowledgement.

"Um, that's right," Horo said. As Ren pulled it across himself and looked with confusion at the clasp, Horo exchanged an awkward glance with the driver. He sighed and, undoing his own belt, reached over to help him. That done, he settled back into his seat. "Sorry, we're ready now." He gave the man an apologetic smile.

Horo peeked through the wing mirror, to see Ren's face was full of anxiety as the car pulled out into the road.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

Horo gave him the address and the man nodded knowingly, as though the street name alone explained everything about his strange passengers. Horo had no heart to defend himself, and instead leant his head against the cold glass of the car window, already deep in thought. He closed his eyes against the intrusive glare of the street lamps whizzing by outside. He clasped his hands together in his lap, feeling the last remains of the alcohol in his system fighting weakly to affect him. The short journey to his home was an opportunity to absorb his thoughts in himself, to ignore the fact that Ren was sitting in the back seat seemingly terrified of something yet unbeknown, and Faust was at home now feeling somewhat suspicious of him. His mind was brimming over with thoughts – the furious buzzing of worries that he drank copiously to silence, now topped with this new wonder and concern about Ren.

He had never wished more that he could simply stop thinking. He felt his mind slipping in and out of the troubled haze that often heralded his sleep. It was a welcome sensation, but he knew it could not last much longer. After a few moments, he risked an unwilling peek from beneath his eyelids, to see they were pulling into the street he recognised as home. He groaned quietly as the car came to a halt outside a rather miserable-looking tower block. He shuffled uncomfortably in his seat as he looked up at it with dread_._ The building was nothing special – one of those concrete monstrosities put up for speed rather than quality. There must have been hundreds of people inhabiting the block, with none of them living in particularly favourable conditions. But Horo could do little better; yet on the other hand, he was sure he could do a lot worse. With the heaviness that the sight of this building brought in his heart, he turned to look at Ren with a weak smile on his face. "We're here."

Ren was biting his lip, his knuckles white from gripping so tightly on the seat's edge. He looked to Horo in desperation.

"Ren, what's wrong with you?" Horo asked, noticing how completely terrified he looked.

"C-Can I... get out now?" Ren questioned, his voice quiet and shaky.

"Yeah, you can. Let me help you." Horo climbed out of the car. When he opened the rear door, he found Ren struggling furiously with his seatbelt. "Hey, wait! Calm down, let me help you."

Ren pushed himself right back in his seat as Horo reached across him, desperately trying to avoid any form of contact. As soon as the belt came loose and Horo stepped back, Ren scrambled urgently out of the car. As his feet touched the ground, a look of relief passed over his face. Horo watched him, perplexed, before turning to pay the driver through the open window. Although he couldn't afford it, Horo felt obliged to let him keep the change. The car pulled carefully out into the night and Ren's golden eyes stared after it right until it had vanished from sight.

"Come on, let's get you inside," Horo said. He took the lead, and sure enough, Ren followed obediently.

Together, they headed towards the building's entrance - one heart weary; the other, unfathomable.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Time for a subplot chapter! Quick warning for sex and drug use.

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**CHAPTER 3**

Pirika drew deeply on the cigarette she held loosely between her fingers. She wasn't a committed smoker, and the fumes made her insides feel like death every time she inhaled. Even she could tell they had been laced with something unsavoury, something that left her with a distinctive high after just a few drags. But she didn't have to pay for them, so what did she care?

She heard echoes of drunken laughter and raucous male banter not too far away, and she immediately straightened her posture, shooting up like a terrified mongrel. The group she had heard soon appeared on the other side of the street, stumbling over each other and kicking a bottle or two as they went. Pirika breathed out and fell back against the wall, retreating into the cover of the shadows. It wasn't them. She wished they wouldn't keep her waiting like this, though she wouldn't dare to bring it up in conversation.

She shuddered a little as a spiteful wind bit about her bare legs. If she was honest, she would much rather have been wearing denims and an oversized nylon jacket right about now, to shield her from the autumn evening's cold snatches. But that was strictly forbidden when meeting Ryu. All of her clients had their hang-ups, but Ryu was the most pedantic of them all. If things weren't just right for him... well, the thought actually terrified her, though she shirked from admitting it to herself. Subconsciously, she began checking herself over, making sure she'd remembered everything. She pursed her lips to feel the gloss in the hideous shade of pink he so appreciated, rubbed one leg quickly against the other to be sure they were completely smooth to the touch, checked her pocket mirror to see the dark lines of kohl that framed her eyes – at least three or four millimetres thick was optimal for Ryu, she found.

Hearing another collection of distant chattering – a sound alarmingly similar to a group of angry apes warring with each other over a particularly fascinating rock – Pirika readjusted herself quickly. Taking another drag on the cigarette, she threw it on to the ground and stamped it out with her plastic heels as the gang of all too familiar faces approached from the black of the alleyway. At the head of the group was, characteristically, Ryu. His piercing eyes leered out at her from beneath his perfectly-styled hair as he strode cockily right up to her. She was forced to collapse back against the wall as he sucked noisily at her neck. Eventually he found her lips and kissed them hastily before taking her hand and giving it a pull to indicate that they were moving along. She saw the rest of Ryu's undesirable crew staring intently after her, jeering amongst each other like pre-school children. Pirika shot them a look over her shoulder and took a few brisk steps to catch up to Ryu's side, so that she was walking, rather than being dragged along. She'd been able to smell the alcohol on him before he'd even come near her – not to mention the smell of several other substances.

Frustrated by the lack of conversation, and desperate to shut out the sound of the cat-calls behind her, she put on a smile and affected that sickly sweet voice that Ryu seemed to respond to so well. "Hey baby, where are we goin' tonight?"

She immediately regretted uttering a word as she was met with Ryu's angry tones, that tonight sounded more ferocious than ever. "You know where we're goin'. Same place as always. Why do you keep fuckin' askin'?"

She clamped her lips shut, falling uncomfortably into the shadow of Ryu's hulking figure. Finding she had to take two steps to every one of his, she scurried along in uneasy silence. She tried to count each of the streetlamps that fell upon them like searchlights, that orange glow filling her each time with a little bit of hope that Ryu wasn't as pissed off as he seemed. Her heart sank further as she glanced up at his cold expression and they left the brief circles of light, and again and again, were plunged into darkness. When Ryu was angry, these nights were a world away from pleasant. And considering his troubles at home recently, though mostly self-inflicted, seeing him this way was becoming a common occurrence.

They came eventually to the gang's usual hideout, Pirika's stomach writhing in a mixture of relief and fear. The place itself was nothing spectacular, just a back alley walled in by abandoned buildings, the kind of space that could only carry on undisturbed in an area as deprived as this one. Any imprudent do-gooder that tried to clean up this part of town would be guaranteeing a death-wish for themselves if they lay a finger on anything Ryu deemed his territory.

Finally free from Ryu's grip, Pirika took a seat on a broken plastic chair, salvaged from one of the surrounding abandoned offices. The rest of the gang settled in traditionally. She watched Space Shot activate the security light that looked over this small space, somehow was still functional after years of neglect. As usual B-Ball was to be seen unloading the alcohol and other necessary 'supplies' from a rucksack, piling them all in the centre of the mismatched bits of junk that served as seats. Ryu disappeared for a few minutes, leaving her at the mercy of the others. She shuffled uncomfortably as they all spluttered lewd things in her ears and grabbed at her tastelessly. She was forced to smile and humour them until Ryu returned, when they all scarpered like frightened animals. Ryu took a bottle of foul-smelling liquor from the collection and downed the bottle without flinching. The others scurried around rolling up joints and guzzling cheap beer as Ryu and a few choice others snorted a line from the top of an upturned crate. A bottle of something luminescent blue was pushed into Pirika's shivering hands, and she drank it begrudgingly. After a while, the alcohol helped her view the men's activities for what they were – simply results of a lethal cocktail of drink, drugs and testosterone. She sat back and observed them, half-amused, as she was offered a joint by Billy, which she took and smoked absent-mindedly. Eventually, she found she was able to dissociate enough from the situation to the point where it somehow became funny, and she sat giggling to herself, ignored.

The respite, however, didn't last long. Just over an hour passed before Ryu pulled her up from her chair and led her into the back door of the building where 'business' was usually undertaken. The room had obviously once been a kitchen, with aging green tiles covering the floors and creeping miserably half-way up the pock-marked walls. Any usable appliances had long since been stripped from the room, and anything else left behind had been trashed, most likely by Ryu and the others. The floor was dirty and littered with cigarette butts and grime. The only thing left standing was one central kitchen unit, showing its age, but somehow cleaner than its squalid surroundings. Pirika headed straight for it and placed her bottle and purse down upon it, lest they touch any of the revolting litter and filth around their feet. The room was illuminated only by the small amount of light trickling through the pane-less windows that faced out on to the alleyway where the others sat. The light was stale and barely useful, and Pirika was appreciative of the fact that she couldn't see Ryu's stormy face. When the door was closed behind them, he made his way towards her and tugged swiftly at her azure hair.

She winced from the motion. "What's wrong, baby?"

"Your hair," he stated. She could just make out the unnerving glint of his cruel eyes in the darkness.

Not following, she reacted to touch her ponytail with confusion. "What-?"

_Shit._

"I'm sorry, baby. I'll fix it right now, see?" She grasped wildly at the band that was keeping her hair in the offending style. She _knew _there was something wrong with her appearance. Ryu liked her hair down, it was _him_ that liked it in a ponytail...

He watched, unmoving, as her hair fell down to her waist and hung loosely around her face. She ran her shuddering fingers through the ends, unknotting it, ridding it from her eyes. She looked up at his shrouded face for a sign of approval, fear making her eyes sting.

She was met by a forceful, sloppy kiss that knocked her off balance and back on to the counter. Her bottle fell to the ground with a smash, to the sound of a cheer outside. She felt herself being pushed back further along the counter against her will, the hard surface making her shoulders burn. There was no passion in Ryu's movements, simply an urgency to get this precursory ritual out of the way, and on to the main event. She felt her underwear disappear from between her legs and heard Ryu's panting get louder. She tossed back her head so she didn't have to see him undo his pants and climb awkwardly on top of her. She felt her purse digging into her thigh and tried to shift, without thinking. Ryu's forceful fingers grabbed at her wrists and slammed them brutally against the plastic, holding her in place as he pushed himself inside her. She felt the clasp of her purse gnawing further at her leg with each repetitive motion, but she found she'd rather focus on the pain it brought her than to try to feel anything else right then. She heard the laughter of the others outside, saw a curious head peek through the window, and let her consciousness retreat inside herself. She resurfaced only when she felt that uncomfortable warmth between her legs and watched Ryu pull himself away. Back turned to her, he readjusted himself appropriately.

Knowing the arrangement well, she slid from the counter and retrieved her underwear. Her loose hair was tangled around her, some rebel strands having worked their way into her mouth. She spat them out, feeling sick from her solar plexus upwards, legs quivering with adrenaline as she tried to redress herself. She approached his turned back, offering to put her arms around him. He grunted and shrugged her off.

"I'll send the others in," he spoke warningly, not even so much as looking back at her.

She felt her insides wilt. She knew very well what that meant: there was a lot more of this to come tonight. Ryu looked like he wanted to hurt her, and he was choosing the best way of going about it.

Pushing some crumpled notes into her fingers, he kicked the door aside and stormed out to a hero's welcome. The others peered through the door lecherously, trying to find her in the darkness. They jostled with one another, deciding in no diplomatic fashion who should go first.

Ryu's callousness had stung harder than any slap to the face could have. She felt centimetres tall, and with the equivalent self-respect. Clutching her bruised wrists gingerly, she climbed back upon the counter. Lying back, she took off her own underwear, and waited for the first to enter.

* * *

**A/N:** Track 2 of the IHWG playlist is '_Code Red'_ by Tori Amos.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

The familiar smell of vomit and urine hit him the moment he stepped through the door. Horo coughed in disgust, and he watched Ren's nose wrinkle delicately as he followed. Horo looked towards the elevator doors that would take him with considerable ease to his apartment floor. He remembered the late hour, and thought better of it.

"We'll take the stairs," Horo explained to Ren. "I don't trust the elevator at night."

Horo took a right, and passed through another beaten door. The deep red paint splashed upon it was chipping away mercilessly. Horo put his foot on the first step, beginning the gruelling six floor trek to his level. The carpet beneath his feet was without a doubt the main perpetrator of the terrible stench that plagued the air. The once-sophisticated shade of burgundy was now more the colour of dried blood, riddled with stains and pools that were unmistakeably of human origin. Each step brought a cloud of foul-smelling dust flying up beneath his feet, making a sharp taste hit the back of his throat. As he reached the top of the first staircase, he looked back to check on Ren. Despite his injuries, he didn't seem fazed by the climb. He walked along slowly, his feet as heavy as feathers on the exhausted old staircase. His eyes darted about him as they had done all night, absorbing his surroundings.

Satisfied, Horo continued on, taking care not to touch the yellow-stained wallpaper on his way around the corner. He paused only at the top of each staircase to briefly check on Ren's progress. It passed vaguely through his mind that Faust must have given Ren quite a number of painkillers to prevent him from feeling the pain of those extensive injuries. He half-wondered if Ren would have an objection to that too, if he knew_. _At the top of the third flight, his knees started to quiver with exhaustion. By the time the sixth floor came into view, he felt just about ready to collapse. He'd been out since eight o'clock this morning – first, to work, then out for 'just one' drink as usual, and then... all this. He desperately wanted the day to end. Exiting on to floor six, he became intensely aware of how dry his mouth felt. Holding the door open for Ren to pass through, he turned and smiled wearily to Ren. "This is it."

Digging deep into his jacket pocket, he pulled out the keys to apartment 6A. The door creaked open, squeaking horribly on its old hinges. Horo stepped back to allow Ren inside, and he obliged nervously. Horo's heart grew heavy as he stepped inside, straight into the living room. There was not much there to speak of; a few pieces of mismatched furniture and a swift coat of industrial beige paint. The carpet was similar to that of the communal hallway, only considerably cleaner. A rather aged TV set sat in the corner of the room, large and ungraceful. It balanced on top of a small bedside table Horo had salvaged from someone's waste, the corners of the machine overlapping every side of it. The large sofa was a stale blue hue, and was probably the newest-looking object in Horo's possession. This sat awkwardly beside a red gingham-covered armchair, an item Horo despised, but was bound to keeping purely for utility. In the rather meagre-looking window hung some dreary blue curtains that barely served their purpose and let chinks of light in from all sides. Aside from a plain-looking coffee table arranged neatly between the seats, there was little else inhabiting the room at all.

"Pirika?" Horo called out, the sound vaguely echoing from the bareness of the walls. No reply followed.

"...Pirika?" Ren looked up at Horo questioningly.

"My sister," Horo answered simply, setting his keys down on the coffee table and walking over to a door that led directly off the living room – Pirika's bedroom. He peeped inside half-heartedly. There was little point, he knew very well that she wasn't there.

"...Where is she?"

"Who knows?" Horo shrugged, heading now to his small kitchen. Moving more by instinct than conscious thought, he flicked on the light switch, grabbed two glasses from the cupboard and filled them with water. He turned, to find Ren staring at him from the doorway and he pushed the drink into his small hands. Gazing unseeingly at the cityscape through his kitchen window, Horo downed his in one.

"Do you want to take a shower or anything?"

Ren shook his head again, the glass ignored.

Horo he leant gently against the worktop. "Well, I don't know about you, but I think I'm ready to call it a day. Let me show you where you can sleep."

Ren shook his head once more, this time, with increased vigour.

"Hm? Is something up?"

"I need to do something... before I sleep."

"What is it?"

"There's a ritual I must perform," Ren said, matter-of-factly. His voice had suddenly taken on a more formal tone, as though Horo was someone he must show reverence to.

"A _ritual_?" Horo frowned with confusion. "What do you mean?"

"If it's no trouble to you, I just need a few simple tools for the task."

"I can try my best, I suppose..." Horo said. Against his better judgement, he knew the only way to find out what this 'ritual' was to let Ren go through with it. "What is it you need?"

"Just a candle... and something to light it with."

The 'tools' sounded harmless enough. And perhaps the best way to settle Ren into his new surroundings was to let him do what he knew as routine. "Wait there, I'll be right back." Walking carefully past Ren, Horo headed again for Pirika's bedroom door.

The transparency of Pirika's thin curtains meant he didn't need a light to see inside. Pirika's messy bed lay untouched, as it had done for three consecutive nights. Horo noticed a pile of clothes on top of the blankets – new, and expensive, if he wasn't mistaken. She must have at least dropped in while he was at work. He tried to ignore his growing concerns for his younger sister's well-being, and turned instead to the task at hand.

The haphazard shelf attached to the wall beside her bed held many trinkets and treasures. Most of it silly little things from their childhood. Horo noticed the wooden bead bracelet he had carved for her as a child. His fingers lingered over it lovingly, before he reached out and took hold of the large white candle near the right edge of the shelf. Next to it, a box of matches conveniently lay. He picked these up too, and fighting the urge to take one more glance at Pirika's empty bed, he returned to join Ren. He found him staring up at an old wooden cross Pirika had hung on the living room wall, back when they first moved into this place. His glass of water was discarded, untouched, on the coffee table.

"This okay?" He asked, holding up the candle.

Ren nodded. Without a word, he fell to his knees beneath the cross, looking at Horo expectantly. His hands pulled tightly at the gown he wore to ensure that it covered him as he kneeled. It barely did. Horo looked awkwardly back to the candle in his hand. "Shall I, um, give you some privacy for this?"

Ren's face frowned delicately as he said, "I'm used to having an audience."

"Um... I suppose you want this then?" Horo said, indicating again to the candle. He placed it down on the floor in front of him. "Is this alright?"

Ren nodded, his gaze intent.

"Should I light it for you?" Horo asked carefully, musing to himself that Ren's tiny fingers didn't even look capable of striking a match.

"Yes..."

Horo slid open the box of matches and took one from the half-empty packet. Closing it once more, he placed the head of the match against the rough strip on the side of the box. He stopped for a second, taking another curious look at that focused stare on Ren's face, those golden eyes burning with concentration. With a flick of the wrist, he struck the match.

The head burst into flame, flickering reds and yellows. Silently, Horo set the match to the candle's wick. It caught quickly – soon, it too was decorated with a tiny dancing flame, beautifully dangerous. With still no response from Ren, Horo shuffled back across the floor to give him some room. Shaking the match in his hands to put it out, he settled back to watch, heart beginning to race. An air of reverence seemed to fall about the room that made even Horo feel nervous. Ren's demeanour had completely changed. He was engrossed, eyes not shifting even slightly away from the candle, as though he were keeping it alight through sheer force of will. Then, without warning, an incredible sound pierced the air.

Horo almost jumped out of his skin, the sound sudden in the tense silence. It was forceful, it demanded to be heard, but at the same time, it was wonderful. It took a moment for Horo to realise, in his haze of the day, that the sound was one he had heard once before: Ren was _singing._

"_Lord, teach us how to pray aright, with reverence and with fear; though dust and ashes in Thy sight, we may, we must, draw near..."_

Just as before, the song was unmistakeably a hymn. Yet Ren's voice was so pleasing to the ears, no church choir could ever hope to best it. Horo watched Ren's pale lips moving with the words, producing a sound they barely seemed capable of. His whole body seemed somehow strengthened by the song, his frail limbs seemingly fortified beyond belief. Horo watched on, captivated, as Ren clasped his hands together in his lap and turned his face skyward. The singing got louder, more confident, as Ren lost himself in the melody.

"_God of all grace, we bring to thee, a broken, contrite heart; give what Thine eye delights to see, truth in the inward part..."_

The words seemed to make Ren glow with passion, pools of tears welling in those deep eyes. Horo was taken aback by the sheer devotion in Ren's voice – something he couldn't imagine coming from any human, much less one so timid and weak. Despite everything, Ren's voice did not falter. It stayed as pitch-perfect and as beautiful as before. Horo watched the flame from the candle dance as though in time, throwing shimmering reflections on to the walls of the room, fighting against the artificial light.

Slowly and deliberately, Ren's hands began to move. Horo watched them intently, feeling his intrigue grow by the second. Ren unknotted his hands from their place in his lap, and held out now his right index finger. He sang on.

"_Faith in the only sacrifice that can for sin atone..."_

Ren closed his eyes, his face still turned upwards, as he moved this single finger towards the candle. He held it but a centimetre from the flame, as Horo gazed on in amazement. Then slowly, subtly, Ren's finger lowered, down towards the heart of the fire.

"_To cast our hopes, to fix our eyes, on Ch-Christ, on Christ alone..."_

The falter in Ren's voice was all too obvious to Horo as he realised what Ren was doing. He kept his finger still for another five seconds. Another five. The smell of charring flesh caught Horo's attention, as he watched Ren's face wrinkle up in agony.

"Ren..." Horo murmured, eyes wide with astonishment.

Ren was oblivious, as focused as he was. A few seconds later, and he moved another finger to the candle's flame. The fire licked around it as he lowered it into the heat's centre.

"_Patience to watch, and wait, and weep, though m-mercy long-"_

"Wait, stop that!" Horo cried out, springing towards Ren before he even realised that he had done so. Subconsciously, he had caught hold of Ren's arm to pull it away from the flame. Ren stared at him now blankly.

It took a second for his face to regain personality and his startled cry to burst out. "I told you not to touch me!" He snatched away his arm, terrified, and shuffled away from Horo.

"What the hell was that? You really could have hurt yourself!" Horo exclaimed, completely shaken. He took a look at the offending candle and doused it immediately. "Let me see your hand," Horo instructed.

Ren shook his head rapidly, clutching his arm close to his chest. The disposition that had come over him had now gone completely. He was back to himself, child-like and hesitant. Horo tried to ignore the change.

"I won't touch you. Just let me see." Horo said, a little gentler this time.

Ren considered for a moment. Then, hesitantly, he held out his right hand.

Horo's eyes settled straight on the two fingers that he had just seen Ren deliberately burn. They were hard to miss – entirely bright red from the tips to the first joint. On closer inspection, Horo noticed something else, beneath the initial redness. Small white blotches that he soon identified as blisters plagued the skin around Ren's fingers, in a pattern alarmingly similar to his current burns.

"Do you... do this a lot?" Horo asked, face screwed up partially in horror, partially in disgust.

Ren stared down at the wounds, dumb-founded. He withdrew his hands, cradling it to his chest. "I didn't do that."

"Ren, I just saw you do it. You don't need to lie to me."

Ren looked affronted. He took a private glance back down at his fingers, shielding them from Horo's view. "I don't know how it happened."

Horo sighed to himself, feeling the sickness rise back into his stomach again. "I'm not gonna try and understand right now. I think what we need to do is clean up those wounds. Come on." Horo got to his feet, waiting for Ren to follow. He did so without objection. Horo led him into the kitchen, where he turned on the tap. "Here, hold your fingers under there for a while."

"Why?"

"Because it will cool your skin down and stop the burn worsening," Horo explained. "Please, just do it."

Ren placed his fingers under the stream of cold water. He stared out of the window solemnly, seemingly indifferent to the pain and discomfort he was no doubt experiencing. Horo didn't dare to wonder why. He leant back against the worktop, still watching his troubled face. Horo supposed he was concerned about the interruption of his ritual. But it wasn't as though he could stand back and let him harm himself yet again. Judging by what Faust had said, he was already sufficiently ill. Horo reassured himself; he must be cruel to be kind. He tried to change the subject. "I can let you borrow a change of clothes, if you need them."

"I can't. Am I done now?" Ren asked, impatiently.

"You can't? I don't think you'll be able to walk around in that forever," Horo said, eyeing the hospital gown that Eliza had dressed him in.

"I _can't,_" Ren said, more sternly this time. "Can I stop doing this now?"

Horo sighed again, turning the tap off and holding out a cloth for Ren to dry his hands on.

Ren took it and used it carefully. He handed it back to Horo without a word.

"Any better?" Horo asked, nodding towards Ren's hands.

"A little," Ren said, dismissively. He turned away slightly, an obvious sign that he wasn't willing to talk.

Horo withstood the silence only for a few seconds before he spoke up. "Come on, you can take my bed tonight." Leading Ren out of the kitchen, he stepped into his own bedroom. He switched on the light and Ren followed him inside.

The room – much like the rest of the apartment – was minimalist in decoration, and small in size and proportion. Inside, only three pieces of furniture existed: the bed, a rather rickety-looking wardrobe, and a very old-fashioned chest of drawers. They contained all of Horo's worldly possessions – which admittedly, were few. Horo turned to Ren and smiled apologetically. "I'll take the sofa tonight. You can sleep here."

"Where?" Ren asked, looking around the room blankly.

"There, of course," Horo said, pointing out the bed in the corner of the room.

"Oh..." Ren looked at it as though confused by its existence.

"Will you be alright?"

Ren nodded.

"Well... good night," Horo said, knowing to not even bother waiting for a response. He stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. He remained outside for just a second to listen. He didn't hear Ren move at all. He sighed, shaking his head. He felt awkward, completely puzzled by how to act around Ren and how to respond to him. Everything Horo said was met with a vacant look, or a cryptic nod. He truly felt as though he was treading on eggshells around this stranger, not knowing what was next going to invoke a seemingly illogical reaction.

He had a feeling Ren wouldn't be going to bed left to his own devices like that, but he was again starting to reach that point of not caring. The moment he was alone, his exhaustion crept up on him. His body grew heavy, and his limbs felt flaccid. His mind – having overworked that night through both confusion and alcohol – merely sounded now like white noise.

Absent-mindedly picking up the candle that still sat squarely in the middle of the floor, he placed it on the coffee table and fell back heavily on to the sofa. He lay his head against a cushion, and within a few moments, he was sound asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Time to visit another familiar face...

* * *

**CHAPTER 5**

The industrial wasteland of the city was deserted no matter what the hour. During the day, the only movement to speak of was litter and debris shifting in the breeze, the only noise that of the wind as it whistled its way through the neglected remains of the buildings. At this late hour, the occasional bat could be spied departing from the dilapidated rooftops, but to observe anything more than that was luck indeed.

The sombre moonlight shone feebly upon the dirt track that was so rarely traversed these days. It glanced the top of the non-descript ruins, each of them glistening like tombstones, in memoriam of the corporate cash cows they used to be. There was one building however, a long abandoned factory, that did not seem to emanate the same feeling of desolation as the others between which it stood. Upon careful consideration, it could be perceived that light was softly ebbing from the windows of the second floor – those of the first floor having been completely boarded over.

Inside the building, there was even more a sight to behold: an assembly of mismatched pews that were slowly filling with people, garbed in black and wearing austere expressions usually only affected at a wake. Hushed whispers were passed between them as they took their seats, crossing their hands neatly in their laps as they did so, all eyes turning to face the low altar in front of them. Upon the crates that formed the rudimentary altar, stood two ornately decorated candle holders, wrought from cast iron, and a statue of an unusual figure, carved from stone. An air of expectancy rattled around this unlikely audience as they sat patiently, waiting.

Only one figure remained standing in the congregation; he was a teen with a soft face that belied his true age, his rounded features framed subtly with emerald green hair. His eyes, wide and charming, glittered jade with the curiosity synonymous with childish innocence. He was small in stature, and no more imposing than a frightened animal, but an enormous sense of loyalty resonated from the young man, so intense it was almost intimidating. Dressed attentively in the expected black apparel, he was busying himself with the task entrusted to him: to light the candles for the night's meeting. He travelled with haphazard excitement between the six well-positioned candelabras in the room, three on each side of the pews, lighting each one as he went.

As he held out the torch, his hand shook gently, his mind reeling with anticipation. Not only had he been trusted with this current task, but he had also been asked to perform a _reading_. Very few people actually took part in the giving of the services. Only the most dedicated of members were chosen for that duty, he had heard. He had been told on several occasions of the promise he showed, and these statements only strengthened his personal, well-guarded belief that Samjaza had taken somewhat of a shine to him. With this thought in mind, he took just an extra few minutes to iron out his shirt before he left the house, and pressed his trousers with additional care. Looking down at himself now, he almost smiled. Catching himself short, he glanced around; ensuring that nobody had witnessed his momentary lapse in concentration. Confident that everyone's attention was firmly fixed upon the altar, he resumed the carefully regulated expression of asceticism, and focused once more upon his task. He cast his eyes downwards to look at the candle he was currently lighting – the third of the six that surrounded the seating area. There were also the two that sat upon the altar, but only one person was to deal with those.

He took a moment to glance up at the people assembled, considering them all with interest. He had only been here a short time, but already he had learned the real and Given names of everybody here. Some of them had been attending for months. Some, years. He was by far the newest addition to the group. And to think, he was already surpassing them all! His heart leapt at the thought, and his foot snagged on the candelabra as he tried to walk away. It span dangerously on its thin cast iron legs, and he watched with horror as it clattered to the ground. Everyone turned to look with a start, and the room fell silent. He fell clambering to the floor, desperately trying to rescue the fallen candle – extinguished, but rolling slowly away. In the corner of his vision, he saw a tall figure rise up from the front-most pew, glasses glinting disapprovingly in the low candlelight.

"Suriel," the menacing yet dulcet tones of the man called Marco echoed out in the silence. "Please, take more care when performing your duties."

"Y-Yes, Arakiel..." Lyserg stuttered, taking the candle in his hands. He felt the warm wax subside beneath his fingertips as he clenched his fist around it, agitation building inside of him. He rose slowly to his feet, trembling with embarrassment as he picked up the stand and placed it back where it belonged. Marco continued to watch him for a few more moments before returning to his seat. Gradually, everybody else turned away. Lyserg continued on to the next candle, head hung low in shame. His cheeks felt hotter than the flame he was carrying. How predictable, for him to falter in front of Arakiel, Samjaza's right hand. He cursed himself silently, wondering by how much he had just dented his reputation.

The sound of the large metal door opening echoed around the room. Right on cue, everyone in the pews dropped to their knees. With a fresh panic setting over him, he lit the final candle and dashed back to his place. He fell to his knees alongside the others, eyes closed tight and hands clasped together against his chest, just like everyone else. For a moment, he realised that he had just scuffed the knees of his neatly-pressed trousers. He hastily pushed the thought away, heart racing, as footsteps sounded across the room. There was complete silence, but for the echo of shoes on the dirt that covered the floor. They continued on, confidently, striding with an air of importance between the two rows of pews. Lyserg felt the rush of air that meant Samjaza had just walked right by him. He squeezed his eyes tighter still, feeling himself giving in to the temptation to peek. He sensed the presence climb upon the altar, accompanied by the sound of shoes on wood. A moment of tense silence passed, and the orange light filtering through his eyelids grew brighter as the two altar candles were lit.

He felt his heart pounding throughout his entire body as the excitement grew greater still. This part was always the hardest. The inexplicable urge to look upon Samjaza was hard to fight away. Never before had Lyserg met a man he so thoroughly admired. The want to please and serve him was the strongest desire Lyserg had ever felt. This was why the excitement for today had consumed him, had been occupying him for days. To be one of the leader's most trusted… he was sure he would want for nothing more after he had achieved that honour.

"My friends," the voice was brimming with fortitude, measured yet somehow joyful. "Good evening."

Lyserg knew it could only be the voice of one man. Just like everyone else, his eyes opened wide at last. Only now were they allowed to look upon him – Samjaza, the man he so revered. He clasped his fingers tighter together as he saw the slender figure upon the altar, arms opened warmly to them all and addressing them with a vigour that seemed to come quite naturally.

"Thank you for coming here tonight. I'm sorry I join you so late. Now, on with the proceedings. Arakiel." He looked towards Marco and nodded in his direction.

From his prominent position on the front pew, Marco inclined his head both in response and respect, and got to his feet. His task didn't need to be made any clearer to him, nor to anyone else. With a brisk stride, he left the bubble of candlelight that surrounded the centre of the room, and headed towards the corner, concealed in the darkness, to a set of stairs that led to the basement of the building. The sound of him descending was muffled, but audible. Lyserg looked forward to the day he would be entrusted with such a task.

"Please, be seated," Samjaza instructed his audience, watching them in silent regard. At his command, everyone settled themselves back on to the hard wood of the pews, hands folded into their laps. Lyserg sat up straight and proud, face turned up towards Samjaza with a serious and focused expression. His heart was still racing. He willed it to slow, lest the pounding of it against his chest distract him from the service. Today was so important…

"Very soon we will commence our night's duties," Samjaza continued. "However, we do have a few small additions to tonight's service. First of all, our newest member, Suriel, will be doing a reading for us."

For a fleeting moment, Samjaza beamed with his usual ease in Lyserg's direction. Lyserg smiled back with pride at his Given name, forgetting his place for just that instant. His stomach wriggled with nerves as the weight of his upcoming task truly fell upon him.

"And secondly, there is a-"

Suddenly, the sound of frantic footsteps cut Samjaza's speech short. The feet clattered up the stairs and towards where they all sat at a speed indicative of panic. Samjaza turned around with an unusual expression of alarm as Marco appeared again in the glow of the candlelight. He was panting heavily, eyes wide with shock. He fell to his knees before the leader and cried out in a voice wavering with emotion, "It's Ren… Ren has gone!"

Almost instantly, a wave of alarmed chatter rippled through the crowd. Lyserg glanced around with sheer disbelief, settling his eyes with a hope of comfort upon the face of the leader. He felt those hopes shatter horribly as he saw the beads of sweat on Samjaza's forehead. When he spoke, his voice jarred with an ill-hidden panic. "You're sure? You've checked everywhere?"

"Yes, everywhere! He's nowhere to be seen!" Marco exclaimed, fists clenched tightly together and eyes quivering with panic.

Samjaza was frozen to the spot. He remained like this for a few seconds before jumping down from the altar and calling out, "We have to find him." There was not only panic but also anger in his words that shook Lyserg to hear. He marched with fury past Marco in a way that screamed disappointment. Not even so much as glancing back to reassure his followers, he disappeared off into the darkness, storming off towards the stairs. A few of the more senior members leapt to their feet and followed him with blind loyalty. Marco remained on his knees in the dirt, looking thoroughly ashamed. Lyserg wondered why he looked so concerned for his own well-being. Surely Samjaza couldn't put any blame on him for this?

Lyserg sat obediently on his pew, waiting for the leader to return. Twiddling his thumbs together, he looked with sorrowful eyes at the bookmark placed in the Bible in front of him. This night was not going as he had planned.

* * *

**A/N:** The next track is Evanescence - 'Lies'


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

When seven o'clock came the following morning, Horo had already been awake for hours. His sleep had been deep for a blissful few hours, until he was rudely awoken by his stomach making movements that gave the impression it might just jump right out of him. For hours he had had his head hanging inside the toilet bowl, watching the follies of the previous night returning to haunt him in reverse. The smell of bleach and the cold of the porcelain against his skin were a familiar discomfort, but they still made his eyes weep and body quiver against his will.

Emerging from the bathroom for what felt like the hundredth time, water still streaming down his face and body shaking residually, he glanced up at the clock once more. The time he had been anticipating had finally crawled around, after watching the clock hands move at an agonising speed all through the night. He slumped back down on to the sofa, dabbing at his pallid face with a towel. Having been awake for so long, he had plenty of time to rethink the events of the night before, but was still bewildered by their nature. He would have called himself an intoxicated liar had there not been a timid, violet-haired stranger now inhabiting his bedroom. When the thought of Ren came into his mind, his eyes wandered towards the door absent-mindedly. Come to think of it, he hadn't heard the stranger stir all night, despite the amount of noise he had been making, falling over himself in his haste to get to the bathroom before he turned the already beaten couch a charming shade of yellow.

Either way, he had already resolved that he was going to have to wake Ren, thanks to seven o'clock barging rather rudely into the world. As much as he wanted to forget, it was time for him to go to work. With his head deep inside the toilet bowel, Horo had had some time to contemplate what to do with Ren while he saw to his tasks for the day. He had resolved within the first few moments that Faust and Eliza weren't an option, with a busy day running the clinic ahead of them and no spare beds to speak of. He couldn't possibly trouble them anymore. Pirika was nowhere to be seen, and thinking about it, he wouldn't trust her with him anyway. He couldn't imagine leaving Ren to himself, considering his current physical condition and the self-destructive nature he had already displayed. He decided with another moment of hesitation that he would take Ren to work with him. It was the plan that inconvenienced the least people, and meant he could keep a close enough eye on him that would satisfy his concern.

Having already showered twice in an attempt to get the smell of alcohol and vomit from his hair, Horo sought out his uniform, tossed unceremoniously over the back of the chair. Putting it on with no misgivings about the creases it had developed over night, he slung on a headband to push back his unruly hair, and headed for the bedroom door. He knocked on it lightly and called out, "Ren?"

Putting his ear to the door, he heard no response. He knocked again, harder this time. "Ren? I'm coming in, okay?"

Not bothering to wait now, Horo pushed aside the door. He was greeted immediately with the sight of Ren, sat in the corner directly opposite the door, stuffed against the walls as though trying to cram himself between the bricks and mortar. His unforgiving stare was fixed on the door, and Horo made himself subject to it the moment he stepped inside. Ren was quivering, barely covered at all by the hospital gown he still insisted on wearing. The skin around his eyes was so dark and stretched, it was evident he'd had very little sleep at all. Curiously enough, the bed also looked untouched. After surveying him, Horo stepped towards him carefully, and those golden eyes followed his every movement. Ren hugged his knees tighter to his chest as he approached.

He crouched down to Ren's level, looking to him with fresh concern. "Hey, what's the matter?"

Ren stared without a word, as though seeing right through him. He remained this way for an uncomfortable period of time, as lifeless and fragile as a porcelain doll. Horo half thought about gently shaking him, assuming him to be in some state of sleep. Before he could move to do so, Ren's pupils suddenly began to move wildly, drinking in his every detail. He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "It's morning, you know. How are you feeling?"

Ren nodded in response – an answer which could have meant anything.

"I have to go to work soon. Do you think you'll be able to come with me?"

Ren's nod came immediately after the question. Horo wondered if he'd even taken the time to consider the request. But as he seemed so cooperative, Horo wasn't about to explore the issue. "Well, you're going to have to get ready. You can borrow some of my clothes for the day, if you need them."

"No!" Ren's voice suddenly erupted out of him, as sudden as a firecracker in the darkness and twice as loud. His forehead creased as he frowned. "I can't."

Horo was surprised, but this time, stayed stern. He couldn't possibly take Ren out in decent society wearing the gown. "I'm sorry, Ren. You haven't got a choice."

Ren's expression was somewhere between a scowl and look of pure despair. "I can't," he repeated, weaker this time.

Horo sighed heavily. This was something he couldn't let up on, he told himself. Just one look at the length of that meagre stretch of material made him blush. "If there's one thing I want you to do for me, it's this. Please."

Ren gazed up at him with pleading eyes, like those of a scolded pet. And like a pet, his loyalty was unwavering. After a moment and what seemed like a battle raging in Ren's mind, he finally nodded, albeit hesitantly.

Horo smiled reassuringly. "It won't be all that bad, I swear. Here, I'll go find something out for you." He got to his feet and headed to his wardrobe, Ren watching his every move with cautious eyes. He immediately set about digging around in the heap of garments, looking for his oldest, and smallest, items.

Ren was far smaller than he was – both in height, and in stature. Not even his oldest clothes would fit him properly. However, Horo soon realised that the choice was out of his hands. He began to notice Ren's reaction from the corner of his eye as he passed over various items. If he touched anything that seemed to be brightly coloured or heavily detailed, Ren's small nose wrinkled up in distaste. It was through observing this behaviour, and a system of trial and error, that Horo finally decided on a simple pale blue sweatshirt and dark coloured jeans. Turning to Ren with the clothes in his hands, he asked, "Are these alright?"

Ren nodded slowly, obviously resigned to his fate. He seemed somewhat surprised that Horo had made such a welcome choice.

"Now… you can use the shower, right?" Horo said, attempting a joke, but finding his impatience showing through a little too obviously.

Ren looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded again.

Horo felt a vague sense of relief. At least there wouldn't have to be another battle for that cause. Handing Ren the clothes, he gently ushered him into the bathroom. Switching on the shower for him, just in case, he left him alone. He busied himself in the kitchen, preparing toast for them both. He wolfed down his own and returned to the living room with Ren's share on a plate. As he entered, he found Ren had also reappeared. Upon first seeing him, Horo had to do a double-take.

Ren was fully dressed and wearing the old clothes better than Horo ever had. They were still much too big for him, but he carried them in a way that made their bagginess almost look fashionable. He had style his hair perfectly into a spike at the back, using what products Horo couldn't guess. His face shone with renewed energy and Horo had to shake his head to stop himself from staring. If he was honest, he had expected Ren to completely fail to put on the outfit. He was pleasantly surprised.

"You look… great, Ren."

There was a pinkness in Ren's cheeks as he tugged derisively on the bottom of the sweatshirt. He looked embarrassed, as though someone else had dressed him.

"Um, here," Horo passed the plate he was holding into Ren's hands. "I made this for you."

Horo bustled around the apartment getting together the last of his things. Noticing the time, he ushered Ren out of the door, only noticing at the last moment that the toast lay discarded, untouched, on the arm of the sofa.

Horo pushed open the glass door and he heard the soft chime of a bell signify his arrival. At the sound, a smiling face popped up from behind the counter opposite.

"Horo! What's up? Did you oversleep again?"

"For once, no," Horo shook his head and smiled fondly at the young man that had spoken. His eyes and hair were chocolate brown, and his whole face was lit up with a grin. His eyes were always smiling, even on the rare occasions when his mouth wasn't. He always seemed so at peace with himself, enviably so, Horo thought, as though working in a fast food restaurant was the most fulfilling thing in the universe. This young man was Yoh, Horo's closest friend, and head 'chef' at _Burger Galore._ Yoh had worked at this place for an age, and it had been he who had gotten Horo his job here.

Ren surveyed the stranger warily, and took a step sideways to hide behind Horo's back. His golden eyes peeped around curiously.

The sight of a friendly face had been a welcome distraction for a moment. Remembering his charge, Horo sighed and turned to Ren. "Okay, I know this isn't gonna be very fun for you, but believe me, it isn't for me either. The best thing I can suggest is to take a seat and wait for me for a while. I should be able to get off at five."

Ren stared blankly.

"Come on, I'll find you somewhere to sit," Horo said, softly. The restaurant was empty for now, and would be for a while, so there was plenty of choice. He led Ren to a small table near the front window, tucked away privately in a corner. Ren sat down obediently. "Is this okay?"

Ren nodded, his eyes already slipping sideways to stare out of the window at the busy street. During the walk here, Ren had been fascinated by simple, everyday things – the sight of a school bus going by, or an aeroplane whirring by overhead. He continued his hungry staring out of the restaurant window. At least he was easily entertained.

"I'll be right back."

As Horo headed back towards the counter, Yoh's face appeared again from the small back room that was the kitchen.

"Who's your friend?" Yoh asked, innocently.

"It's kind of hard to explain. We only just met. All I know his is name is Ren and he's pretty quiet," Horo explained briefly. It wasn't that he didn't trust Yoh enough to elaborate, it was simply that he had little to tell. He busied himself with the drinks machine, knowing Yoh wouldn't intrude further if he stayed quiet. Yoh watched Ren for a few more seconds.

"Is he gonna wait there all day for you?"

"Yeah, looks like it," Horo replied, fastening a lid to a paper cup he had just filled.

Yoh smiled warmly, shrugging his shoulders slightly as he disappeared again into the kitchen.

Horo pierced a straw through the plastic lid, then with it headed back to where Ren sat. "I brought you a drink," Horo said, taking a seat opposite and placing the cup gently in front of him.

Ren tore his eyes away from the window to glare at the cup distastefully. "What is it?" he asked, nose wrinkling.

"Milkshake," Horo smiled. "Thought you might need it, having to sit there all day. If you need a refill just call me, and I'll-"

"I can't have it," Ren frowned.

"What? Why not?"

"I can't."

Horo bristled at the now familiar phrase. "Listen, you haven't drank or eaten anything for at least twelve hours, it's really not good for you. What _can _you drink?"

Ren thought for a moment. "Water."

"Okay, that's something, at least." Horo took back the cup and returned to the counter to swap it. He placed the water back down in front of Ren. "There. Better?"

Ren nodded, this time not even bothering to look his way.

"Are you hungry? Because it's no problem to grab you some food before I start working."

"No," was Ren's simple reply.

"Are you sure? It's no trouble if you-"

"I'm not hungry," Ren cut across him again, still looking rather preoccupied.

"Well… alright," Horo conceded. "I'll just be over there, so call me if you need me."

Horo left rather reluctantly and returned to the counter. He was grateful of the fact that he had a clear view of Ren from where he stood - he felt as though he wanted to keep the young man firmly within his sights.

Tying on his awful red plastic apron, he set about his normal opening-of-business routine. He began with the dull task of refilling the straw and napkin dispensers. Yoh appeared once again from the kitchen.

"I saw your sister last night," he said to Horo, in an off-hand way.

Horo looked up at his friend with urgency. "You did?"

"Yeah, she was hanging around with Ryu's gang again. I know you don't need me to tell you this, but she'd better be careful. You know what Ryu's lot can be like."

Horo breathed out heavily, thrusting the last few straws harshly into place. "Yeah…"

Yoh watched his reaction with concern. "Is everything alright between the two of you?"

"She didn't come home last night. Or the night before that. Or the night before that," Horo explained, sorrowfully. "I was worried about her anyway, but knowing she's hanging out with Ryu again… ugh, I warned her about that already."

Yoh leaned on the counter, hand cupping his chin. "She's old enough to look out for herself now, and make her own mistakes. Besides, Ryu's got a policy of not lashing out at women, though I know it's not much consolation."

"Hm, I don't really trust a man like Ryu to uphold his word, do you? I just want her to quit with this whole thing, you know?"

Yoh stood upright, placing a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "I can understand. And I know you're gonna worry, regardless of what I say. But just rest in the knowledge that she'll come around eventually, either sooner or later."

Horo knew he'd rather it was sooner. A lot sooner, if it were possible. But one look at his friend's deep, knowing eyes made him realise one harsh truth: there was no point trying to force or persuade Pirika to not do the things she did, or she would merely begin to resent him for it, if she hadn't already. He half knew he was the one responsible for her behaviour and lack of self-respect. He wished that he could say more to Yoh, discuss this with him, but he felt somehow inhibited – was it by shame? And was that shame for his sister's mistakes, or for his own failure as a brother that led to her making them? He answered instead with a weak smile, turning his back to busy himself with some other task.

"Heads up, first customer," Yoh announced, disappearing back to his station in the kitchen.

Horo greeted the man with a forced friendliness that made him sick to affect. And so began the day: a steady stream of morning commuters dropping in for a snack or a boost of caffeine, steadily increasing to the frenzy that was the lunchtime rush. This was the part of the day where Horo and Yoh barely spoke a word to each other, save shouting orders through the hatch and murmurs of apology when they accidentally brushed each other in the small space behind the counter. Yoh churned out beef burgers and fries in batches by the dozen, as Horo quickly greeted and served each customer with an exhausted smile. Occasionally, Horo would disappear out into the restaurant floor to tidy the tables and gather litter thrown carelessly on the ground. At such times, Yoh would move to the counter front to serve the food himself, briefly flitting back and forth to the kitchen to restock the hotplates. It was in this manner that the two friends battled through this hectic time.

When he had first started the job, Horo had found the stress hard to cope with, feeling nothing but drained throughout the entire process, and sometimes even snapping at Yoh in exhausted agitation. Eventually, after day by day of the same routine, he began to come around to Yoh's way of dealing with things, and it stopped bothering him so much. No matter what Yoh was doing, there was always a smile on his face and a knowing look in his eyes that somehow made it seem as though he and he alone knew the higher purpose of being there, slaving away miserably at a nine-to-five.

Horo used his table-clearing duties to check in with Ren, who was still staring contentedly out of the window. Even if he didn't get the chance to speak to him, getting close enough to see the serene expression on his face was enough to appease him for a while.

One disconcerting moment came when a table needed cleaning and Horo was too swamped with customers to deal with it. He glanced restlessly at Ren two, three times over handfuls of change he was passing to customers, before Yoh called out, non-chalantly, "I got it, buddy!" and disappeared out on to the floor. The table in question was right next to where Ren sat and Horo started fumbling with the orders he was getting as he saw Yoh stop to talk to Ren.

But something remarkable happened. Yoh had barely said two words to Ren before he visibly relaxed. He turned from the window to throw one arm over the back of the booth chair, and flicked his hair out of his eyes casually as he spoke to Yoh. They were well out of Horo's earshot, especially as he stood operating the drinks machine with a loud and constant buzz. But he did see them laugh together, like old friends, before Yoh clapped Ren's shoulder and returned, tray of leftovers in hand.

"Your friend's pretty cool," Yoh said, once Horo's last customer had finally left.

Horo glanced uneasily at Ren, who was sat again just how he had left him, timid and reserved, like he hadn't just morphed into a different person right before his eyes. "Oh… yeah?"

Yoh waved a piece of paper around victoriously. "He told me where I can pick up tonight, so that's a load off. My usual guy's out of town."

Horo tensed. _Drugs?_ It was no surprise to him that Yoh smoked a little more than occasionally. But _Ren_ knew a dealer? What was he, an addict? It would be easy to believe to, judging by his appearance and erratic behaviour. He pushed the thought aside. Surely it wasn't that simple.

His train of thought was rudely interrupted by the sound of the shop door opening, a party of four entered, summoning Horo's attention back to his work. From there, the day trickled slowly to its end. Five o'clock rolled around with all the speed of a maimed snail, when Horo threw down his apron gratefully.

Yoh's face appeared once more at the kitchen door. "Oh, is that the time already?" he smiled. "Busy day, huh?"

Horo nodded, rubbing his tired eyes with grease-stained hands.

"You can go ahead if you like. I'll finish getting the stuff ready for the night guys. I wouldn't want to keep your friend waiting any longer."

Horo muttered a word of thanks as Yoh disappeared with a grin. He headed from behind the counter, grabbing a box of fries as an after-thought on his way out.

"Hey," he called out to Ren as he neared his table.

Ren's eyes shot away from the window to look at Horo with surprise, as though he'd been awoken sharply from the middle of a long dream.

Horo invited himself to sit down once again, opposite Ren. "How's it going?"

Ren nodded. Horo took this to be a positive answer.

"I brought you these," he continued, placing the box of fries on the table. "Have as many as you like."

Ren stared at the food blankly. He didn't move an inch.

Horo sighed. "Okay, let me rephrase that: eat some of these. You haven't eaten all day."

Ren's small mouth opened to respond, lips beginning to form the phrase Horo knew so well.

"Ah, and before you start with that 'I can't' crap…" Horo interrupted him, holding up a hand to stop him from speaking. "You can and you will. So please." Horo pushed the fries further towards Ren.

Ren gave him an almost tearful look, before looking down at the food even more emotionally.

"Go on," Horo persuaded.

After a moment more of staring, Ren held out a tentative hand and grasped one in his dainty fingers. Carefully and slowly, he lifted it to his lips and gently nibbled the very end.

Horo smiled encouragingly, leaning back further in his seat. "I'm exhausted." Right on cue, he yawned widely. In reality, he knew what his body was calling out for, and that was alcohol. His normal routine after a day's work was to help Yoh tidy up the place, and then head straight to his usual haunts to drink himself dizzy. His common sense told him firmly that although he was responsible for his own actions and could drink himself to oblivion if he so desired, it was simply not fair to do it while he was in charge of someone else. He could hardly act as a guardian if he could barely walk in a straight line. And besides that, he wasn't sure at all how Ren would fare in some of the places he usually visited. Shaking himself out of the alcohol-related train of thought, he looked back to Ren, who was still nibbling – rather contentedly now – on the fries. Glancing down at the box still on the table, Horo was surprised to see that it was already half empty.

"Whoa, you _were _hungry, huh?"

Ren reddened a little, as though ashamed.

"It's okay! I'm just glad you're eating," Horo said, as Ren finished off another, cheeks flushed pink. "Listen… Faust said you seemed as though you've had a bit of a rough time… can I ask, why were you in that place, all by yourself?"

Ren froze, midway through taking another bite. Silently and slowly, he returned the fry in his hand to the box. He folded his hands in his lap again. "I think… I'm done here."

Horo gave an exasperated sigh. He felt momentarily angry with himself for stopping Ren from eating when it had been such an effort to convince him to do so in the first place. "Well look, when you're ready to talk about it, I'm here to listen." Wanting to leave just those words for Ren to ponder, Horo stood to his feet and called back into the kitchen, "Yoh! See you later!"

Yoh's beaming face appeared in the food hatch. "Yeah, take it easy."

With Ren in tow, Horo headed for the door.

"Oh, and Horo!" Yoh called after them. "Don't forget: we're hitting up _Faith _in a few days. Save some energy!"

Horo cursed under his breath – he _had_ forgotten. It was Yoh's birthday soon, and he was choosing to celebrate in the obvious fashion. Though the promise of alcohol was enticing, Horo never really chose to drink in such popular places.

"Of course, I won't forget. I'm looking forward to it," Horo lied as he opened the shop door. "See you!"

He rehearsed his excuses for the rest of the day.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

Horo fumbled helplessly with the keys in his hands as the small figure beside him swayed precariously.

"Hold on, Ren. Just one more minute," he spoke quickly, stressed, as the right key finally slipped its way into the lock. Horo turned it, his actions ten times slower thanks to his panicked clumsiness. When he finally pushed the door open, Ren staggered past him hastily. He barely got a few steps inside before he fell to his hands and knees on the floor, legs giving out beneath him. Horo followed and dropped beside him, moving to touch his shoulder for comfort, but thinking better of it at the last moment. "Are you alright? How do you feel?"

Ren shook his head desperately, gasping for every strained breath he took, body quivering hopelessly. He retched, sweat beading on his forehead, and Horo watched the fries he had just eaten appear in reverse.

With more than a little persuasion, and a lot of effort, Horo managed to get Ren into the bathroom, where he hung his head over the toilet, still retching convulsively. Horo hovered beside him with concern, not really knowing how he should be supporting him. When relief finally came, Ren's face was pasty and his eyes were red and sore-looking. Horo offered him a damp cloth with which to wash himself, and forced a glass of water between his quivering fingers. He sat Ren down on the sofa and begrudgingly began cleaning the floor by the front door.

"What do you think caused that?" Horo asked aloud, washing his hands in the kitchen sink after the job was done.

"… I don't know," came Ren's quiet reply.

Horo shook the excess water from his hands, grabbed a cloth and returned to the living room. "I'm gonna call Faust and let him know what happened, okay? He might be able to shed some light on the situation." Rubbing his hands dry, he stepped into the room and saw Ren was lying down, shaking timidly upon the sofa. Horo sighed with pity and gently placed over him the blanket that usually hung on the back of the chair. Horo remained for a moment, watching Ren's pink eyes opening and closing slowly with each heavy breath. His honey-hued skin seemed translucent, the peach of his lips quivering as his teeth chattered behind them. Horo picked up the telephone and, without hesitation, he dialled the number of Faust's clinic.

After a few rings, Eliza answered, her soft voice ringing out serenely as she recited her usual formal greeting.

"Hey, Eliza. It's Horokeu. Listen, I need to speak to Faust. It's kind of urgent."

"Johann? He's just finishing up with a patient, I'll patch you right through," Eliza said, asking no more questions, no doubt hearing the worry in Horo's voice. "Just hold for a moment, if you could."

"Okay, thanks," Horo clutched the handset close to his ear, cloth still held tightly in his other hand. He listened to the silence at the end of the line, watching Ren intently. He looked even frailer now than when they had first met, and an odd feeling of concern washed over him. He chewed furiously at his bottom lip as he waited for Faust to pick up.

"Hello, Horokeu?" came the eventual relief of Faust's fatherly tones.

"Hey, sorry to bother you," Horo apologised. The clinic was always busy during the early evening.

"You should know not to worry about it. Now tell me, what seems to be the problem? Eliza seemed quite worried."

Horo rang the cloth through his right hand tirelessly as he explained the situation to the doctor. While he was talking, he watched Ren's breathing steady, and his eyes begin to focus with each mention of his name. As Horo's conversation drew to an end, Ren's golden eyes were set on him intently, as though absorbing his every word.

"Okay. Thanks, Faust. Yeah, I'll bring him by tomorrow. Thanks again. Good night." Horo turned his back to Ren as he placed the receiver on its stand just beside him. He took a pause, before turning back with one word on his lips: "Malnourishment." He looked at Ren questioningly as he spoke, aware of how his worried anger showed through his words. He watched Ren recoil a little and his chin disappear beneath the corner of the blanket as he said again, "Malnourishment… what the _hell_, Ren?"

He could see how his hostility was affecting Ren, but the boiling in his veins and the knot in his stomach were not going to let him stay calm. He threw down the cloth on to the floor with exasperation. "You owe me some answers this time. Tell me, what the hell is going on with you?"

Ren's eyes shimmered in response, the blanket creeping ever upward until he was barely peeping over the top of it. The delicate bump that was his nose poked gently at the material, the space around it rising and falling with each small breath. Horo closed his eyes and tried to dissipate his anger, realising he had scared him.

"Listen…" he spoke softly now, with conscious effort. "I'm not mad. I'm just… I'm worried, okay? I think I've seen the worst and then you spring this on me. I just want to know what's happened to you, so I can at least try to help. You're very ill, and I need to know why. Please, talk to me."

Ren blinked up at him, through strands of violet hair falling delicately upon his eyelashes. For a moment, neither of them said a word. Horo sat down beside him, cross-legged on the floor, waiting for Ren's response. A few tense seconds later, a muffled sound and a movement of the blanket hinted that he was trying to talk. Horo smiled gently, and with a soft tug, teased the blanket away from Ren's face.

"Try again."

Ren appeared frozen, hardly blinking. His lips moved silently a few times before the word finally formed. "Grigori…"

Horo waited, to see if Ren would continue uninvited. The blank stare on Ren's face said that he wouldn't. "Grigori…" Horo urged. "What is that?"

"They're people. The people who take care of me," Ren said, carefully. The glistening pools that were his eyes stared, wide as saucers, across at Horo. His body still trembled lightly, and every drop of colour remained absent from his face as he spoke, barely whispering.

Horo frowned, shifting uneasily. "They take care of you? Where are they?"

"They're not always there. They visit me, in the Sanctuary…" Ren closed his eyes, burying his face further into the pillow on which he lay.

"Wait, the Sanctuary?" Horo questioned.

Ren nodded slowly. "You visited me there too. But you shouldn't have been there," Ren paused for a moment. His eyebrows knitted and he shook his head. "No, definitely not."

"You're not talking about that old factory are you? The place I found you in?" Horo felt his stomach turn with the sudden dread of knowing.

"Yes, the Sanctuary," Ren nodded, eyes still closed fast. His voice had once again acquired a dreamlike quality, wistful yet formal. "My home."

"You _live _there?" Horo exclaimed, watching Ren recoil at the sudden volume of his voice. He steadied himself again, apologising. "How… _how_ do you live there?" He shook his head, in astonishment. The large room he had seen was just a derelict factory, there were no amenities, certainly no living space to speak of.

"I don't live upstairs. That place is for worship only," Ren's eyes were wide again, startled by Horo's outburst. "I live downstairs."

"Worship? What do you mean?"

"That's where we worship Him," Ren's small shoulders jerked in a delicate shrug. "What else would we do?"

"Him?"

"Our God in Heaven. Our saviour," Ren said, a half smile passing across his lips. The first smile he had seen, Horo marvelled, though he had not expected it to look so out of place.

Horo waited for a moment, waited for Ren's strange faraway expression to become instead an innocent laugh, followed by a line about how he was only teasing, for him to say that he was in that old building for some far more mundane reason. But Ren's odd, devoted smile did not fade – a look that changed his face entirely.

"Y-You're serious, aren't you?" Horo gasped, eventually.

Ren nodded, obviously confused by such an obvious truth.

Horo paused, breathing deeply, trying to line up a torrent of questions rushing through his mind, trying to order his words so they came out as coherent sentences rather than a mash of nothing. He decided to start simply. "So… why do you live downstairs? Where do you eat and sleep?"

"I live downstairs because God wishes it," Ren said, plainly. "And I have a room. That's where I eat and sleep, when the Grigori allow me to."

"When they _allow_ you?"

"Yes, I can't eat whenever or whatever I like. That would be gluttonous," Ren shook his head with the ridiculousness of the concept. "And to sleep for such a long time invites idleness. An idle mind does God no favours."

He was building a picture of these people, and it wasn't a good one. They interrupted Ren's sleep and monitored his eating – obviously not well, if he was so malnourished. "These… Grigori? They're normal people?"

Ren nodded unsurely, as though he didn't quite understand the question.

"How many of them are there?"

Ren thought for a moment, eyes wandering to the ceiling as he considered. "I can think of… nineteen faces. Some I see more than others."

"Are you one of them?"

"A Grigori?" Ren shook his head frantically, face half-concealed by the pillow. "No, no!"

"Well… what are you in all of this?"

"An angel."

Not for the first time, Horo spluttered with disbelief. "Wh-What?"

Ren nodded with simplicity.

"You mean, a real angel? Like the ones you see in church paintings?" Horo couldn't help but let scepticism filter into his words. He was unsure whether Ren was lying or simply mad.

Ren looked thoughtful. "Yes, I suppose that's what I used to be like."

"Used to?"

"I'm not in heaven anymore, so now I look like this. Like you."

"So you _used_ to be in heaven?" Horo asked, pressing his fingers to his forehead as he tried to piece together all of this new information.

"Yes, or so they tell me. I don't remember it myself." Ren's eyes were brimming with tears, as though the fact that he couldn't remember pained him.

"_Who_ told you this?"

"The Grigori, of course. They're my protectors."

"What else have these people told you?"

"That I fell from heaven, into the protection of Samjaza. He and the rest of the Grigori watch over me until I am ready to return to God's side. They test my faith and make sure I am prepared to take the journey. But Samjaza has sole responsibility for me. He is a very generous man."

Horo's eyes scanned every delicate inch of Ren's face as the stranger – seeming even more strange now – relayed this information. For a moment, his mouth moved without sound, as his mind tackled whether this was either an elaborate fabrication by the frail young man in front of him, or a situation so wrong he could barely comprehend. _Something_ about this story was amiss, but he didn't know what he should be asking to get the root of it. He asked the first thing that sprang to his mind.

"And I suppose this 'Samjaza' is taking orders from…?"

Ren nodded confidently. " Yes. God himself."

Horo's thoughts upon how to expand on this seemingly meaningless discovery were interrupted by the thud of the front door swinging open and bouncing off the wall behind it. Horo jumped to his feet with alarm, and Ren buried his face once more beneath the blanket, as a young woman of twenty-one strode inside the apartment with a brashness that made the whole room seem to quiver. She was pretty, but exhausted-looking, as though the last dregs of her exotic youthfulness were on the verge of being sapped away by life's troubles. The easiest way to discern her as a sibling of Horo's was the shade of her hair – a glistening azure fountain that descended to her mid-waist. She had kicked the door aside with her foot, due to the fact that both of her hands were encumbered with shopping bags. In each hand she held five, all of assorted shapes and sizes, each one adorned with the name and logo of some top-of-the-line store. As she entered, her eyes shot right to Horo, beside the sofa, and then to the strange figure lying there. Without a word, she threw her shopping bags to the ground unceremoniously.

"Pirika…" Horo started. The normality of his sister arriving home made him feel as though he had been caught in the process of some unsightly deed, and it made him feel vaguely embarrassed. Then his relief at finally seeing her set in, and for a moment, Ren and all the talk of angels and the Grigori disappeared from his mind. "Where have you been?"

The young girl rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated breath of air. "Freakin' hell, Horo. Can't you greet me with a different line for a change? That one's gettin' old."

"It's a legitimate question," Horo said, taken aback. Every time they saw each other – a rare occurrence nowadays – he was surprised by her hostility towards him. She acted accused before he had even spoken a word. "You haven't been here for what, three nights now? I have a right to know where you are."

"Ugh, as if you need to ask," Pirika scowled, throwing her keys on to the table and disappearing into the kitchen. Horo heard the tap running as she made herself a drink.

He raised his voice to make sure she could hear. "I heard you've been hanging around with Ryu again."

"An' who told you that?" A cup slammed on to the worktop, as Pirika also raised her voice. "I bet it was that shit-face Yoh, wasn't it? Fuckin' snitch, as always."

"Leave Yoh out of this. He's just looking out for you, same as I am. I don't need to tell you again that Ryu's gang are bad news."

Pirika suddenly stormed to the doorway of the kitchen, full of angry attitude. "You don't think I know that? Huh? But what choice do I have?"

"You have a lot of choice, Pirika. Stop with this whole game, stop it altogether. You don't need to do it."

Pirika scoffed. "Hah, and then what? It's not like _you_ can support me. Or would you rather _I_ was flippin' burgers for next to no money as well? Would that make you happy?"

He tried to ignore the personal attack. "I'm not saying you have to do that specifically, just try to find yourself a real job. There's plenty of things you can do besides-"

"Besides this?" Pirika laughed dryly. She gestured to the expensive, but revealing, clothes she wore. "Yeah, right. And I'm sure they'll pay as well as this too. Sorry, you've tried to have this talk with me too many times already, I'm not gonna start listening now."

"Maybe if you stopped being so fucking materialistic you wouldn't _need_ so much money in the first place. I break my back trying to take care of you, and you know it," Horo started to shake with anger, scowling at his little sister. He loved her – he knew that, even at a time like this. But she could infuriate him, particularly when this subject arose.

"Yeah, yeah, and I'm sure mommy and daddy are so proud of you, smiling down on you from heaven," she said, bitterly. "You know I don't give a shit whether or not you care that I'm hangin' around with Ryu – it's good money that I'm not gonna get anywhere else. So stick your whole righteous big brother act up your ass and let me get on with my own life."

This time, Horo didn't snap back. Another sound entered the space between the warring siblings, a sound that was noticed at first by Horo, closely followed by Pirika. Horo stood, looking down at Ren, the stranger he had long since forgotten about. His charge was now completely buried beneath the blanket, shaking gently, as the soft sound of sobbing echoed around the tense atmosphere. Both siblings stood in silence for a moment, before Pirika made a noise of exasperation, collected her bags, and stormed off into her room, giving the door a suitable slam behind her. The next thing to be heard was the sound of Pirika's stereo booming aloud, as it so often did after their arguments.

Horo grounded himself for a moment before kneeling down once more at Ren's side. Watching the slight movement beneath the blanket, he listened to the almost inaudible sound of tears, before beginning to speak. "Hey, Ren?"

No response came, but Horo didn't expect one. "Listen, I'm sorry if me and Pirika arguing has upset you in some way. I know it's not nice to listen to, especially when you don't know her. I promise, she's usually a lot nicer. You'll get on, when you get to talk to her, I think."

"I…" Horo heard the squeak that was Ren's voice, muffled by the blankets he was hiding beneath. "I want to rest."

"Ah, of course. You've had a long day." Moving the blanket away from him, Horo guided him in to the bedroom. "Come on, slowly now." He led him in the direction of the bed, hoping he would consider actually sleeping there tonight. Ren didn't protest, obviously too tired even for that.

Pulling the covers up to Ren's chin and leaving a glass of water beside his bed, Horo left him alone. Closing the door softly behind him, he sighed as he stepped back into the normality of the living room. Pirika's music was still blaring, but he doubted it would bother Ren at the moment. He fell back heavily on to the sofa, head in his hands. Running tired fingers through his azure hair, he looked down at himself and realised that he was still wearing his _Burger Galore_ uniform. He scowled at it, grabbing a towel and heading into the bathroom to wash away the bleariness of the day.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

The pounding of the music from earlier that night had left her ears singing with vibrations. If she listened closely, she could still hear a heavy baseline reverberating up from the basement level of the club. She could feel the music throbbing through her heels, making her whole body shake and causing her to grit her teeth with annoyance. She scrubbed harder at the marble surface of the bar, delving her focus into the reflection of the dim neons that lit the club's interior. The fingerprints that plagued the ebony counter-top had been long since erased by her persistent scrubbing, but still she polished on, unwilling to stop doing the one thing that was keeping her from marching downstairs and kicking down that door.

It was some ridiculous hour of the morning, and Anna would really have appreciated being back at home. Asleep in her own bed, if she could be specific. But although the cleaning had long been completed for the night, and all patrons and staff alike had been ushered out, she couldn't leave yet. Until her boss finally emerged from that downstairs, all-night party, she was stuck there. As long as he was there, indulging in the company of all those overly-attractive men and women, drinking exotic liquor until all hours of the morning, she was under strict instruction to occupy herself however she deemed best until she could lock up for him, as the only key-holder. The club might have closed officially at 3am, but the party carried on long after whenever he decided to stay around. Why he couldn't keep a key for himself was a mystery to her.

What she found more mysterious still was the clandestine activities of the basement floor. The place was strictly off-limits, even to her, and all other drunken revellers that plagued the club during opening hours. It wouldn't be so unusual, she supposed, for the owner of a nightclub to have his own private floor, and perhaps even invite V.I.P guests there for personal functions when he chose. Were she working for anybody else, she wouldn't have questioned the behaviour. But she had heard some rumours recently regarding her employer that made her usually inquisitive mind work over-time.

She threw down her dishcloth with a frustrated sound and moved briskly to the other side of the bar to rearrange the stools for the twentieth time that night. Anna was not one to ignore such nagging intuition that something more was going on behind those closed doors. If there was one thing for which she should be credited, it was her unforgiving pursuit of knowledge and her persistence in this endeavour.

Adjusting the final stool, she sat down on it heavily. Elbows resting on the bar, she covered her tired eyes with her detergent-smelling hands. She pulled them away as the artificial lemon scent made her tear ducts sting. As she did, she found her eyes resting on the hallway that lead to the office of Hao Asakura – the young, undeniably handsome entrepreneur whose face had been virtually unavoidable for the past three years. His charismatic smile stared out from the covers of all those magazines. And not just the business and financial publications either; even the fashion magazines bore his intriguingly charming face, each one trying to pick apart his 'ultra-suave, metro-professional' style. Anna had written him off as just another celebrity, the type people worshipped under false acknowledgement that he was everything that they themselves wanted to be. A modern-day saviour, she supposed.

When she saw that his chain of nightclubs – so called_ Faith _for their situ in renovated churches – was advertising vacancies for its flagship venue in the next city over, it hadn't been reverence for Hao Asakura that had made her apply. Nor was it her desperation for a regular pay-check. Far from it. And it was now, as she looked towards that deserted hallway, that she remembered the reason why with a newly-restored vigour.

Those brown eyes bore into the door in front of her – the only guard between her and opportunity. She knew Hao would be downstairs for hours yet. He resurfaced for nothing when the party was in its heat. She had done this hesitant dance a thousand times now, trapped between her desire to act and her misgivings about being caught. She had memorized the code to that door long ago; planned her excuses, and her escape routes. She had lingered for too long, and that night, her frustration at herself, at her situation, at her employer, had peaked. In one swift motion, she kicked the barstool out from underneath her and stood up with a jolt. Both her hands hit the marble of the bar-top with a clap that jarred her jaw. Within moments, she found herself punching in the code to that blockade of a door. She slipped inside and closed it quietly behind her.

She stood in a narrow corridor, low-lit with elegant sconces and a high standard of décor the rest of the club did not seem to share. She had walked through there only once before, during her interview for the job. They had not used Hao's own office for the interview, and he had led her to a smaller, but equally well-furnished room off to the left of the corridor. She could see the door to it now, that blank name-plate staring ominously back at her. She could remember her surprise upon discovering that Hao himself was conducting her interview, considering he must have thousands of people working for him in all the various facets of his business. But as an employer, he had 'high standards to uphold' he had said, in response to her idle amazement. He had handed her the keys to the club after only a few, unobtrusive questions, and she had started work that same night. The whole process had been relaxed and unceremonious. But that seemed to be how Hao ran all of his operations, and she was a fan of efficiency, so she asked no questions.

The long-denied office sat invitingly at the end of the corridor. She did not even consider that the door might be locked. Hao was alarmingly lax in his security; there were not even any cameras in this corridor, she noted. Incredibly risky, considering both the cash office and the main hub for the CCTV feed were also located down this corridor. _That's a lot of faith to put in one door code_, she thought. As she expected, the door handle succumbed to a simple tug, and with a few stolen glances left and right, she stepped inside. She exhaled softly, a breath to steady herself upon realising that she had finally taken the plunge.

The office itself was large, particularly considering that Hao rarely spent any time in here. It was lit dimly by an incredibly subtle desk lamp that she assumed would be insufficient to do any actual work by. On the main wall, a large piece of pretentious art hung in all its hideous glory. The opposite wall was filled corner to corner with bookshelves, which were crammed with box-files and folders, all of which appeared to be gathering rather large quantities of dust. The desk itself was broad and made of sturdy dark wood. Almost definitely an expensive antique. She noted with interest the lack of a computer – an oddity for a businessman who doubtless has countless electronic correspondences to see to.

She headed first for the desk, sitting down gratefully in his plush office chair, complete with over-the-top armrests and a garish leather finish. Each drawer of the desk was locked. She gave them all two tugs, just to be sure. Finally,_ some_ form of security. From where she sat, she reached idly to the bookshelf, pulling out a box-file with seemingly random dates on it. The papers inside were all accounts and expenses for the nightclub chain for the previous year. Though she had no head for numbers, she could easily see a steady rise in profits, and nothing particularly amiss. The next box-file contained information on various franchise holders for the chain. She scanned through the list of names she was already quite familiar with. It had been easy to find these names with a bit of digging around online, and she had investigated them fully – turning up nothing of interest each time. All of this paperwork looked like it might be more at home in the cash office, not in the CEO's private collection.

She looked around in frustration at the sparse room, resting back dejectedly in the enormous chair. Nothing. What did she expect from an office he hardly used, and didn't bother to even secure? She growled under her breath, kicking his wastepaper basket idly. When it also revealed nothing, she stood up in agitation, ready to leave.

She caught sight of a glint of light through the frosted glass of the office door. She froze, poised to duck behind the desk. But it vanished as quickly as it had come, with no sound to accompany it, so she put it down to imagination. She sighed with relief, and headed for the door. She walked on tip-toes on her way out, reaching up and running her hands across the top of the bookcases idly. Apart from a collection of furry dust on her fingertips, she felt nothing.

Until she reached the last set of shelves. Her fingers suddenly scraped something hard and out of place. She strained higher, grabbing at what felt like a corner of whatever it was. All she succeeded in doing was pushing it further back and completely out of reach. She looked at the comically large chair and began manoeuvring it around the desk. Pushing it against the shelves for support, she climbed on to the seat, completed unconcerned of what damage her shoes might do to the fancy upholstery. She wobbled slightly, regaining her balance as the chair tried to spin around. Steady once more, she reached up and took a swipe at the foreign object. She just caught it between her thumb and forefinger. Slowly, she drew it back, and let it fall into her outstretched hand.

Suddenly, the thud of a door came. Anna span, hesitating only long enough to see the door of the office was still closed. But there were lights outside, and shapes. She had no time to make a run. She was trapped either way. She ducked behind the chair, eyes trained on the door and heart pounding in her chest. The shapes outside were accompanied with voices, and they got increasingly louder as they came into view through the frosted glass. From what she could tell, there were two men coming from the room she had passed on the way in. As far as she knew, there was no one in the club besides herself, Hao, and his guests. How long had they been in there?

"You know how I feel about this whole thing. You're completely _crazy_, Marco, and you know it! You honestly think this would pass by Hao unnoticed? You're a fool."

The voice had an accent with Mexican influences. It was male and obviously rather up in arms about something.

The second voice was cooler, and also male.

"He will not find out. Not only is this being conducted well outside the confines of the Sanctuary, but I am also approaching only selected candidates. Surely you understand my reasoning, Peyote."

"Listen," the first man, Peyote, replied, "I know you've got your morals, but surely you understand what you're suggesting. No matter how much you think that someone's on your side, you know they won't go up against Hao."

Marco tried to respond, but Peyote continued on, irate.

"And in case you haven't noticed, your 'secret' little rendezvous are going on right in the heart of Hao's business. Or have you forgotten that we're standing in the middle of biggest nightclub in the country?" Peyote threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "I've had it with you, Marco. I wash my hands of your nonsense."

Anna risked a sigh of relief as Peyote disappeared back down the long hallway, in the opposite direction to where she hid.

But Marco remained where he was, and for a tense moment Anna couldn't tell which way he was going to go. By the time she'd thought of a safer hiding place, Marco's back turned, and he strode away in the direction of Peyote. If they were going to continue their conversation, Anna would have given her writing hand to have listened in. But this was the closest to anything she'd had in months and she wasn't prepared to push her luck tonight. Trying to follow them was too risky.

With a racing heart and tender steps, she slipped back out into the main bar. Still no one around. No sign of those men either. She wasted no time in jotting down what she could in her notebook before her memory distorted it. When she was finished, she was confident that the conversation between 'P' and 'M' was almost verbatim. She smiled at the page, the black leather wallet tucked safely in her back pocket. Yes, she could work with this.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay in chapters. I've been forgetting to update this as it seems like no one is reading, so it's hard to stay motivated. If you're enjoying the story, I'd really appreciate any time you could take to leave a review, just so I know I'm not shouting into the ether with this one! Thanks guys, I really do value your support.

* * *

**CHAPTER 9**

Whether out of force of habit or simply a lack of concentration, Horo walked the long way to get them to Faust's clinic the next morning – the route that just so happened to pass by his work. As they neared the dismal forecourt of _Burger Galore_, the air seemed to thicken. It wasn't long before his line of vision met with red, and he noticed clouds of black smog lingering in the distance. He did a double take at the red monstrosity before he accepted that it was indeed a fire truck. And yes, that was the smell of burning ashes that plagued his nostrils.

He passed a half glance at Ren, seemingly oblivious, before knitting his eyebrows and picking up his pace towards the small crowd of people gathered around. Some of them were just nosy passers-by, wanting to glean the best cut of gossip from those in charge. Behind them, _Burger Galore_ stood as just an empty shell, blackened and scorched from the ground upward. The windows had been smashed, and glass glittered all over the street. The fire had not long been extinguished, and huge plumes of grey smoke billowed into the air. The crew of firefighters were pumping water through the large hole that was once the roof. Horo nudged the crowd aside so he could see better, and was met with Yoh's smiling face.

"Hey, Horo," he greeted cheerily, as though completely unaware of the carnage behind him. "I thought for a while that maybe I'd left the fryer on overnight. Maaan, would Silva be pissed if that was true!" He laughed, though Horo could make out the lines of relief on his forehead. After all, it wouldn't be an implausible thing for him to have managed.

"What happened?" Horo pushed.

"Oh, you haven't heard?" He looked surprised, as though it should be common knowledge already. "Ryu's gang hit it late last night. Smashed the windows, grabbed the tills, torched the place, you know the story. Fucked the place up reallll nice."

Horo noticed then just how many police officers were gathered at the scene. A policewoman nearby had a stern expression on her face, lips pouted as she took notes with an air of boredom. This obviously wasn't the first time she had dealt with a problem that Ryu's gang had caused in this neighbourhood, and it undoubtedly would not be the last. "Why here?" Horo asked.

Yoh tilted his head towards him, in an 'I know you know' sort of way. That was the look Horo was dreading. How could it be anything but Pirika? What concerned him wasn't the fact that targeting _his_ place of work meant Ryu most likely had him in his sights, but more what Pirika could possibly have done to anger him so. She had left the apartment again early that morning, without saying goodbye. His mind agonised over where she might be.

He was shocked out of his reverie by Yoh clapping him reassuringly on the back. "It's just an empty threat, you know that. Ryu's just setting off a warning flare, that's all. He won't hurt your sister."

"I wish I could believe you..." Horo trailed off, dark eyes drinking in the destruction before him. The place was ruined, the pavement around it charred with ashes. If he could say one thing for Ryu, it was that he certainly knew how to get a job done. He could imagine the gang's raucous laughter as they swarmed upon the empty restaurant, baseball bats and lighter fluid in hand. It filled him with a sort of rage he didn't know how to categorise, and he ground his fingernails into his palms.

"Sir, is it possible to get that statement from you now?" The policewoman Horo had noticed earlier approached them. Hearing her address Yoh as 'sir' was almost comical, as she would no doubt have grounds to arrest him herself, under different circumstances.

"Sure," Yoh grinned warmly. "Sorry dude, gotta run."

"Wait, do you want me to stay and help out?"

"Nah, what more can we do?" Yoh shrugged, already walking after the policewoman. "I gave Silva a buzz, and he's on his way here. Can't wait to see his face when he sees this shit-storm. Go on, enjoy your day off. I'll give you a call when things are back to the norm!" He waved, and turned his back to talk to the man with a notepad.

Horo sighed. Thinking about it, this was going to be at least a few weeks without pay. Silva was tight-fisted as it was – there was no way he was going to cover leave for them, even if the situation wasn't their fault. Caught up in his worries about money, he was almost surprised when he turned around to find Ren standing directly behind him.

Ren gazed up at him unreservedly. He seemed somehow inquisitive, though he asked no questions.

"Come on, we've got to get to Faust's," Horo stated, remembering his current task with a jolt.

The clinic was only a few blocks away, but Horo remembered with a sense of dread how Faust despised tardiness. He picked up his pace and Ren followed suit obediently.

When they reached the glass doors of the clinic, they found them locked. Horo knocked and Eliza hurried forward with a smile to let them inside. It turned out that Faust had insisted on closing the clinic to all non-emergencies while he saw to Ren.

"You're late," were the first words Horo heard from the doctor, when he met them in the exam room.

"I know, I'm sorry," Horo apologised. "I was just walking by-"

Faust held a hand up a gloved hand to stop him talking, and Horo fell quiet. He sat in the corner of the room like a scolded child while Faust began seeing to Ren, who was perched obediently on the edge of the bed. He began with some basic checks, blood pressure, heart rate, then shone a light into Ren's eyes that made him shy away.

"How has he been?" Faust asked, still busying himself with Ren.

Horo half wondered why the question was aimed at him when his patient was right there in front of him. "Okay, I guess. He won't eat much, and I don't think he's been sleeping very well. Then there was this bizarre 'ritual' he insisted on doing."

Faust stopped then, and turned to face Horo properly. "Describe it to me."

Horo explained as best as he could, while Ren looked disinterested and absent throughout. He didn't have any additions to what Horo said, so he must have been satisfied with his account.

Faust nodded and stared intensely at Horo until he finished. He stayed quiet for a while, obviously thinking. When he spoke again, he said, "Horokeu, I'm going to need some time alone with Ren for a while."

"Uh yeah, of course. Shall I just go wait outside?"

Faust shook his head. "Probably best if you just come back for him later. I'm going to need a couple of hours."

Horo was confused, but he knew he wouldn't understand even if he asked, so he shrugged and rose from his seat.

Ren reached out for him as he saw him head for the door. "No…" he said, feebly.

Horo smiled reassuringly from behind the door. "You'll be okay, Ren. I'll be back soon."

He wasted no time in leaving. Eliza let him back outside, and he took a deep breath of air back in the street. It was nice to be alone for a moment. He hadn't realised how much Ren's presence had been weighing him down these last couple of days. His mind began racing with fabulous possibilities about how he could use his free time, before he remembered he had something he wanted to do, something that had been playing on his mind. It was something that Ren had said to him the previous night. It sounded important, sounded familiar, but he couldn't think why. He needed to investigate. It would only take five minutes, then perhaps he could head to the bar, just for a quick drink. It was only a few streets away, and it would be opening its doors for the lunchtime rush right about now. Pleased with his plan, and set his course for his first stop: the library.

He and Yoh had a mutual friend who worked at the library. His name was Manta Oyamada and Horo was sure the guy was like an encyclopaedia himself. Impossibly book-smart, Manta was the kind of person you would want on your team on quiz night. However, his intelligence was often over-looked due to his incredibly tiny stature. He had been diagnosed with dwarfism as a child and had never grown more than two feet tall. As can be expected, the young man had faced some hardships in his years.

Manta gave a surprised smile when Horo entered. Horo understood why. He wasn't usually a library-goer. Manta was sat behind the desk, on a chair similar to a bar stool so he could reach properly, leafing through a record of what looked like late returns.

"Long time no see, buddy," Manta said, slipping a bookmark into his page.

Horo smiled back apologetically. "Yeah, I know. Sorry, it's been a busy few months."

"No need to apologise! How have you been?"

"Um… good," Horo was fairly sure Manta wouldn't be interested in the honest answer to that enquiry. "Listen, I have a question for you-"

A girl pushed him aside then, and cut him off entirely. Her arms were laden with large heavy books, and she jostled him out of the way to put them down on the counter. "I'll take these," she said to Manta, not acknowledging Horo's presence at all.

"I'm sorry, miss," Manta spoke with an air of professionalism. "We only allow five books to be checked out at a time. If you'd like, I can put the others aside for you and-"

The girl sighed loudly. Her stern face remained expressionless. Horo stood awkwardly to the side while she stared out Manta with her dark eyes.

Manta hesitated when she didn't respond. "If you'd just like to choose three to leave here for now…"

"Fine," the girl huffed sharply, and impatiently began sorting the books into two piles, slamming each one down on the desk as she did so. Horo risked a glance at the covers. They were mostly books on symbolism and lesser known religious organisations.

Manta stamped each of her chosen books in awkward silence, before she stormed out with them in hand, knocking Horo aside again as she went.

"You're welcome!" Manta called out after her, though not quite loud enough for her to hear.

"Nice girl. What was her problem?" Horo thrust a disparaging thumb in her direction.

"I believe she has a serious case of a stick up her ass," Manta smiled devilishly. "Now, did you say I could help you, Horo?"

"I hope so. Have you ever heard of something called the Grigori?"

"That's from the Bible, isn't it?"

"You tell me. I went to church as a kid but I never read the bible through."

"I don't blame you, it's depressing," Manta said, already beginning to tap on his keyboard. "They're from the Book of Enoch. Old Testament, mostly Jewish scripture, so you wouldn't have come across it anyway. They were a group of angels who were banished from heaven for teaching humankind forbidden knowledge, like astrology, agriculture, and so on." Horo could tell he wasn't reading from his computer screen at this point.

"So they're not real people?"

"Entirely fictional. Unless of course you're one of these fundamentalists who takes every page from the Bible literally," Manta stopped typing. "Our religious studies section is upstairs, to your right. You're looking for shelf twelve. The Bibles are nearby, you won't miss them."

"Thanks, Manta."

"No problem. Hey, just shout me if you need me. Oh, not literally though. They don't like me shouting in here."

Horo followed Manta's directions and easily found the section he was looking for. The smell of old books in this particular area was over-whelming, and Horo found it strangely relaxing. There didn't seem to be anybody else even on this floor, and he revelled in the peace. He had intended to just pull out one book from the shelf but he soon found himself intrigued by several, either by their titles, their covers, or their general look and feel. Before he knew it, he had six books on the table behind him, all of varying focuses. He grabbed a Bible too, for good measure.

It had been a long time since he had looked through a textbook, but he remembered enough to flip to the index to find what he needed. He found the section on the Grigori and began skimming quickly over the words. He began with a haste to get the job done, but as his interest peaked, he began to slow down, devouring every word eagerly. He began to flick to other areas of the book to read about unrelated topics, addressing questions about his parents' faith that had addled him for years. Before he knew it, he was flicking back and forth between several books, and back again to the original Bible text. He would be reading one section, then a word would jump out and drag him to another section, another page, another book entirely. Before he knew it, he was pulling down more books from the shelf hungrily, the voices of six different authors chattering away in his head, all from varying schools of thought, yet somehow singing in harmony to become the knowledge that he now had in his mind.

He found Manta's summary of the fictional Grigori was fairly accurate. Their name meant 'the Watchers', as they were originally sent to Earth to watch over its people. But, sympathizing with the humans' lack of divine knowledge, they began to teach them forbidden arts and technology, techniques that the humans would have gradually discovered over time if the angels had not intervened. The Grigori also began to lust after the human women and they procreated with them. Eventually, when their malfeasance was discovered, God cast them from Heaven, banishing them to live alongside the humans they loved so much. Their leader, the one who instigated all of this betrayal, was known as Samjaza.

In between pages, he glanced up at the clock and realised that almost two hours had passed since he had arrived at the library. He would be late to pick up Ren. In a panic, he put back the books where he thought they went. He hesitated with one of them in his hand, and in a rush, decided to take it with him. It had been the one he had found the most interesting, the one that answered many of his questions, yet produced even more that he needed answering. Hastily checking out the book with Manta, he grabbed his coat and ran out of the door.

When Horo got back to the clinic, he burst through the doors panting, brow wet with sweat, fully expecting a scolding from Faust for being late. The clinic was fully opened now, the waiting room busy with people. They all gave him a curious look as he entered in his panic.

He found Ren sat next to Eliza at the reception desk. He was sat patiently, watching as Eliza spoke to her patients and shuffled papers around the desk. Every now and then, she would trade a gentle word with him and he would nod along with her. Eliza beamed at Horo as he approached. "Hello Horokeu. Isn't he just the sweetest?" She said, gazing at Ren as though he was only a small child. And for a moment, to Horo, he_ looked_ just like one too. "Johann's with a patient at the moment, but Ren's all ready to go."

Ren stood up and scurried around the desk to stand at Horo's side.

"Did Faust say anything?" Horo asked.

"Just make sure he eats small but regular meals and try to keep an eye on his sleeping." She handed Horo a small paper bag with what seemed like three or four different bottles inside. "These are dietary supplements, the instructions are on the labels – just make sure he's taking them daily." She smiled one more time in Ren's direction. "He's definitely getting there. Johann will be in touch."

Horo tried to question Ren about what Faust had done and said during his check-up, but Ren wouldn't say a word. Feeling it was probably personal, Horo dropped the subject, his planned trip to the bar long since chased from his mind.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Have a double update, to make up for my lateness :)

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**CHAPTER 10**

Pirika squashed uncomfortably into the middle seat in the back of the car, between the huge frames of Tyreese and Daffy. Even she wasn't permitted to sit in the front seat where Alai, Chocolove's right hand man, was king. Chocolove was driving, of course, the first car in a long convoy that zipped along the road in a suburban area of the city. The men either side of her didn't touch her thighs or breathe suggestively in her ears as they would have in Ryu's gang. In fact, the men kept their hands stuck firmly in their pockets, so as not to touch her even accidentally. Chocolove still glanced through the rear view mirror sometimes, to check on her. The inside of the car was acrid with smoke, making it hard to draw a breath deep enough to expel the sickness she was feeling. She didn't know their destination, but whenever they travelled like this, it was never anywhere good.

Chocolove and his gang were often involved in dealings with a drug runner who was well known in the city. They were often called up for raids, or drops, and sometimes even debt collection. Pirika had heard Chocolove on the telephone to him earlier, calling him 'boss', and receiving instructions. Chocolove often bragged that he had never seen this mysterious employer's face, as though it was a trophy of his stupidity.

"Yo, you guys hear about Ryu?" Alai called back into the car.

Pirika stiffened at the mention of his name. Chocolove was already laughing. As far as he was concerned, Pirika's knowledge of Ryu came entirely from them, his rival gang. The two leaders and their lackeys had been fighting a territorial war for years now, a bitter battle that had left their neighbourhood in perpetual chaos. Chocolove didn't know Pirika had been Ryu's girl since she had been working the streets, nor that he had been the one to get her into the game in the first place. And Ryu didn't know that she sometimes met with Chocolove on her nights off. He was more libidinous but he paid far better.

Over Chocolove's howling, Alai explained for the benefit of the others. "He hit that burger place downtown. Left his fingerprints all over it. Cops gotta bust him now."

The men laughed raucously, and Pirika forced a giggle.

"Fuckin' asshole couldn't set a fart on fire," Chocolove continued, jerking the steering wheel violently as he turned a corner, sending Pirika flying into Daffy. "Ain't that right, baby?" His dark eyes were in the mirror again.

Pirika chuckled dismissively. "Tell me 'bout it."

Alai turned up the music, so the car began to sound like nothing more than a boombox on wheels. The tune was fast paced, with a loud bass and offensive lyrics, and strange electronic noises assaulting the ears during every verse. Pirika hated this kind of music but nodded her head along as expected. It unnerved her to think that Chocolove couldn't hear a single noise around him as he drove, the blaring music drowning out the sound of every car they passed. Rain hammered down on the windscreen, making the tyres slick and dangerous. Where the water hit the asphalt, there was a thin mist as it bounced back up again, threatening visibility and making Chocolove's driving that much more perilous. She didn't trust him to be able to stop quickly enough if one of the cars they were riskily overtaking braked sharply or turned unexpectedly. She kept picturing the rest of the convoy behind them, close as they were, slamming one by one into their trunk, crunching metal and bones indiscriminately.

She began to notice the men getting itchy and fidgeting excitably. She took that to mean that they had nearly reached their destination.

The car skidded to a halt outside an old building, closed for renovation. She breathed a sigh of relief. At least there would be no one inside to come to any harm.

The men didn't speak a word to one another, just began climbing out of the car as though they had rehearsed this a thousand times. Behind them, fifteen other men poured out of the cars that had followed them.

As Chocolove swung his feet on to the pavement, he turned his face to Pirika, a sly smile on his dark lips. "You wait here. Okay, baby?"

It wasn't a question, not really, but Pirika nodded anyway.

He winked at her. "Good girl."

She drew one desperate breath of fresh air as the door slammed shut. She watched him disappear to the trunk, as the gang gathered around and began to collect various items from inside. From underneath black tarpaulin sheets, they pulled out baseball bats, balaclavas and knives. The bottom dropped out of her stomach as the doors around her locked, and she was trapped. As the men pulled on their masks, Chocolove gestured not to the abandoned building they were parked in front of, but to a normal house a little way down the road.

The gang dropped into their usual formation, as organised chaos that protected them from all sides. Chocolove lead the charge, baseball bat hanging nonchalantly over his shoulder. She could see the outline of his pistol tucked into his waistband. Even though Pirika couldn't admire their activities, even she had to admit that their operation was infinitely more polished than Ryu's. Ryu's gang looked like school children pulling pigtails in the playground compared to these thugs.

The silence in this quiet street was unsettling as she watched the gang swagger down the road. With nothing but the sound of her own fretful breath to comfort her, she was beginning to feel anxious. Not the kind of anxiety that made her want to vomit, but the kind of anxiety that made her want to curl up as small as she could, until her eyes and ears disappeared into her knees and she could no longer bear witness to the terrible events that were about to occur.

She knew the car doors were locked, but still she tugged on the handles weakly. Nothing happened.

The gang reached the door of the house. Pirika watched them gather around it, and Chocolove banged the knocker, once, twice. A man answered. Pirika was too far away to see his face, but she could imagine the terror he was feeling right now, met with a mob of twenty masked men, each one wielding a different fatal weapon. The man didn't have much time to react as Chocolove forced his way inside. His lackeys followed. The door slammed shut. That man – or at least someone in that house – owed Chocolove's boss money. It was a nice neighbourhood, and an even nicer house, but you could never be sure of the secret lives of some people.

Then nothing. The quiet, unsuspecting street was a thin veil for the carnage that was no doubt going on inside that house. Pirika saw vague shadows dart across the windows. Still nothing. Her breath misted the car window as she scrutinised the view.

After a few minutes of complete silence, a flash of light, too bright to be a house light, illuminated one of the windows. Pirika only caught it in the corner of her eye but then stared intently into the window where she had seen it happen. It was dark again, but the sensation of something brewing was agonising. A few moments later, the ground around the house grew brighter, and Pirika made out flames licking the edges of the window frames. They were torching the place.

The light of the fire, as it grew and climbed up the trellises of the house, bathed the garden in a hellish glow. That was how Pirika noticed the swingset. _There were children in there._

With a frightened cry, she hurled her weight against the car door, somehow hoping it would open. Of course, nothing happened.

She flung her fists at the windows, then tried her stiletto. The glass was stronger than she thought. All the while the flames grew wilder inside the house. She shouted and screamed and tried desperately to attract the attention of someone, anyone. But there was no one around to hear. She swore she could hear the screams of small children, a crying baby, but she couldn't be sure it wasn't all in her head.

Through the mist of raindrops on the window, she saw the door of the house flew open, and out billowed a noxious plume of smoke. She could just about hear fire alarms ringing as she watched Chocolove and his men file out, job done. One by one they dashed out on to the street, arms and pockets full of loot they had found inside. Pirika scrutinised each of them carefully through the haze of drizzle and smog, praying that at least one of them had had the heart to bring the children to safety. No, they needed their hands to carry jewellery and high-end electronics – far more important prizes.

Chocolove was the last to leave, no spoils in his hands, but brandishing a black spray paint can. He paused long enough to smear his symbol on the ground right outside the front entrance – a ram's head, where the curl of the horn became the 'C' of his name. He was marking his territory, and declaring his victory. No doubt his 'boss' would be pleased with this one.

The men began piling back in to the cars, throwing their weapons and loot in alongside them. Chocolove and Alai flung open their doors, laughing and jostling with each other as though it was all one big joke. Tyreese and Daffy followed, and Pirika tried her best to sit still in her seat and not let the tears brewing in her eyes run down her cheeks.

Engines roaring, Chocolove pulled the car away sharply, tugging off his balaclava and hooting a war cry as he swerved dangerously into the road. As they sped away, the rest of the convoy close behind, Pirika could hear distant sirens approaching. Chocolove's eyes were once again in the mirror but she still risked a guilty glance back at the house through the back window, bright red flames now engulfing the roof, the air thick with smoke. She saw embers drifting around the swing set and had to look away.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Another double update today! Thanks so much to Toph Hitsugaya for leaving some kind reviews - it makes the writing worthwhile :) (Also thank you for pointing out the error in chapter 7! That should be sorted now.)

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**CHAPTER 11**

Since discovering Ren, Horo's life had been turned on its head completely. The biggest change he had faced was that he had been unable to visit his usual bars. Though these sojourns had all but vanished in the last few weeks, his urge to drink had not. He had managed to abstain for a few nights, sweating and shaking on his bathroom floor – but today, he could not. Without work to fill his time, Horo had plenty of opportunity to visit the late-opening stores in his neighbourhood. Ren went with him of course, even obediently carrying bags for him on the trip home. Along with a few bits and pieces needed for Ren's care, the bags were mostly stock-piled with litre bottles of cheap whiskey. The white-label stuff, full of unnecessary ingredients but high alcohol content. He stashed them away at the back of his kitchen cupboard – for emergencies, he told himself.

The first 'emergency' happened to be the very same night he bought the bottles. He had helped Ren to bed, after a long struggle with washing, clothing, eating and denying him his usual night-time rituals. When he walked back into the living room, Ren safely tucked away in the darkness, the emptiness hit him like a solid wall.

He had nothing more to do today. No structure, no hobbies, no ability to leave the house. He felt stuck. The cupboard with his secret stash was soon opened, and within half an hour, most of the first bottle had been drained. There was an old black and white movie playing on the TV and Horo lacked the motivation to change it. He sat alone in the dim flickering light, drinking his poison straight from the bottle.

At some point, he had picked up an old bit of whittling he had started months ago. When they were younger, Horo and his sister had spent many happy hours carving with their father. He had taught them the craft, being a carpenter by trade, and it was one of the first things they had all bonded over. For hours they would sit, forming crude animals and dolls out of the wood, their father watching on proudly. Since he had died, Horo had barely touched the tools he had been given. Pirika had given up the practice altogether.

Digging out his old carving knife from the back of a drawer, he sat with the wooden figure in his hands, and chipped away. The static reception of the TV seemed only to encourage his blank state, the state in which, without rhyme or reason, he continued to carve at his rough-hewn creation. The bottle lay ignored for a while.

He was disturbed by a creak on the old floorboards. He turned his head slowly, to keep time with his lagging vision. Ren stood nervously behind the sofa.

"Weren't you asleep?" he asked, sluggishly.

Ren shrugged daintily. "I woke up."

Horo gestured for Ren to sit down beside him. "I forgot you didn't used to sleep much, did you?"

Ren shook his head, eyes wandering to the TV. "No, only a few hours a night."

Silence settled, and Horo continued his carving.

"What's that?" Ren quietly ventured.

"This? It's just a piece I started a while ago. Before we met. I'm not really sure what it's supposed to be." Horo tilted the figure side to side in his hands, squinting at the detail. It was a person, most likely a woman. She wore a long, flowing dress, her arms outstretched, a solemn look upon her face. Now he thought about it, it almost looked like a figure of Mary, like those he had seen upon the walls of churches.

"No, I meant that," Ren said, pointing at the bottle on the table.

"Oh… oh, that," Horo sighed. "It's alcohol. You've seen it before, right?"

Ren shook his head. Horo noticed he was twiddling his fingers excitably, something he'd never seen him do before. He turned back to his carving.

"It's bad, anyway. You should stay away from it."

"You've been drinking it," Ren said, matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, but I'm an idiot," Horo said, feeling the truth of his words.

"My daddy used to drink that."

Slowly, recognition started to bloom in Horo's mind. He looked at Ren carefully. "You… have a dad?"

Ren nodded. Horo saw a flash of something in his wide eyes, a childishness that wasn't usually there. His voice was livelier, a little higher pitched than it had been earlier in the day.

"You're not… you, are you?"

"I don't know what that means."

Horo set his carving down, and turned his body to face Ren squarely. "What's your name?"

Ren frowned. "It's Thomas." He tilted his head knowingly, almost cheekily, and continued to play with his fingers.

Horo's mind was too cloudy, he took a careful mental step through the thick molasses that were his thoughts. "That's not your name," was all he managed to say.

"Is so!" Ren exclaimed, eyes wide with indignation.

"Okay, so… who's your father?"

"Daddy is daddy."

"You don't know his name?"

"His name is daddy."

Horo pressed his spinning head into his hands. This didn't make sense. Ren had gone to sleep and woken up, thinking he was someone else? Was he even awake at all?

Ren got bored of waiting for Horo to respond, and picked up the carved figure casually. He slowly began to walk it across the sofa cushions. It made wide jumps and somersaults to ascend the armrest mountains.

"Oh, I know! Can we play hide-and-seek?" Ren exclaimed, clutching the figure tight with both hands. "I'm the best at hide-and-seek."

"Wait, Ren-" Horo began.

"You're it, okay?" Ren sprang up from the sofa, rocking on the balls of his feet. "You count to twenty, then come find me. And no peeking! Ready, go!"

Ren scrambled away and Horo's head rang with the noise he made, screeching excitably as he dashed across the room. "Ren!" Horo groaned in protest.

"You've got to count!" Ren called back, diving into the kitchen.

Horo was struggling to process his current situation, mind muffled by the cheap whiskey. Annoyingly, he could feel the effects of the alcohol already fading and the cold ache of a hangover beginning to take its place. He suddenly felt tired, not to mention overwhelmed. To buy himself some time, he buried his head in his hands and began to count.

"One… two… three…"

It seemed Ren truly believed he was a child again. It seemed the most logical thing to do was to get him back to bed. Perhaps he was sleep walking? Perhaps if he went back to sleep he would wake up as Ren again?

"Four… five… six…"

He was too tired. Faust must have known something about this. What made him think Horo was cut out to handle these outbursts? He would have had half a mind to call him, if it wasn't so late. And he wasn't terrified of getting scolded for drinking.

"Seven… eight…"

Perhaps the simplest thing to do was to play along for now. He needed to get Ren to stop the game and go to bed. The only way to achieve that was to see this through.

"Nine… ten… eleven…"

A crash echoed around the apartment. Despite himself, Horo leapt to his feet. Had Ren fallen? Was he hurt?

No, the front door. It was swinging open, holding on by just one hinge. A man stood in the opening. The same man who had just kicked in the door. More people crowded around behind him. Horo squinted against the light outside, trying to make sense of the face he saw before him. He knew him. "Ryu?"

"The brother," Ryu announced to the people following him inside. The rest of his gang. In just a few short strides, Ryu had pushed his way into the living room and was towering above Horo, a monster of a man. His lackeys followed.

Ryu surveyed the room down the length of his pointed nose. "Where's Pirika? She here?"

Watching the men file into his home, Horo shook his head feebly. "N-no… I haven't seen her for days."

Ryu locked eyes with him, stared him down, as though testing his truthfulness.

"Search the place," Ryu barked, letting his men push forward into every room. They bust into cupboards, kicked open doors, ransacked beds and sofas.

All Horo could think as he watched these men tear apart his pathetic furniture was, _Ren, please stay hidden._

Ryu remained, fixed in place, blocking Horo from making any sudden movements. Not that he'd have stood a chance against any of them anyway. He tried to subtly glance around the room to see if he could catch sight of Ren, or even get a clue as to where he was hiding, but Ryu held his gaze fast. If they found Ren hiding, especially in his current state, they would destroy him for sure.

One by one, the men emerged from each room. They shook their heads to Ryu. Pirika was not there.

Ryu snarled with disappointment and grabbed Horo by the collar. His feet left the ground. Ryu's breath was hot and tobacco-infused as he snorted into Horo's face.

"Where is she?"

"I-I really don't know," Horo slurred out, mind still preoccupied with Ren's whereabouts. He thought he saw a movement in the corner of his eye. "I thought she was with you!"

Ryu's face contorted and his grip tightened. "Your little slut of a sister is creepin' around behind my back. This ain't the way things are done, you hear me? If I find out she's been fuckin' someone else, she's fuckin' _dead_, got it?"

"I'm- I'm-" Horo wanted to apologise, reason, argue, _anything_ to draw attention from the movement he could definitely see on the other side of the room. The eyes of Ryu's men were turned on every corner of that room and yet they hadn't seen the stirring in the shadows. If they did, Ren would…

A fist flew into his jaw, and the image he held of Ren's face exploded into stars.

"When you see that little bitch, you tell her Ryu's looking for her, yeah?" Ryu spat. He threw Horo sprawling on the ground. The next thing he felt was Ryu's beaten trainers coming up right between his legs. The impact made his spine shake and he supressed the urge to vomit.

"Anything worth taking, boys?" Ryu asked his gang. The response was negative mumblings and Ryu clicked his teeth in disappointment. Curled up in a foetal position on the floor, writhing in pain, Horo felt Ryu's face come close to his own again. "You tell her to watch her back."

Horo managed to get an image of the room between the fireworks erupting in his eyes and head. They were leaving. Ren was still hidden. _Thank God._ Watching them walk away through one swelling eye, his gratitude washed over him in waves.

Then the movement in the darkness sprang out into the light of the room.

_Ren._

But no, it wasn't Ren. It wasn't even Thomas. The person that launched himself at Ryu, fists flying, a primal scream echoing from his lungs, was someone else entirely. Ryu went flying back into his men, sending them all sprawling.

Ren stood over them all, his small stature somehow enhanced immeasurably. Horo could make out the definition of muscles in his silhouette. He was there for no more than a split second before he descended on the blind-sided Ryu.

The next few minutes were a sea of sprawling limbs and cries of pain. Horo would not make out whose blood was whose as punches and kicks were thrown. Here an elbow, there a kneecap. From somewhere, a glass bottle was thrown and it smashed against the floor. One bleeding lip, one dripping bite-mark. Horo tried to drag himself up from the ground. He needed to help Ren. Ryu's men were killing him. But his spine ached and his head pounded and his arms felt like stone. He was drowning in a whiskey haze and he could not save himself. Even less so Ren.

Through his tears of pain and frustration, Horo could see the bodies of grown men falling to the floor like felled trees. Others scampered over their fallen comrades to run out of the door. Finally, only two remained: Ryu and, somehow, Ren. Ryu was bleeding from a deep gash above his right eye, and was cradling his arm defensively. Ren seemed relatively unscathed.

Ryu threw a punch that Ren neatly dodged, jamming a sharp elbow underneath Ryu's ribcage as he did. The blow winded Ryu, and he gnashed his teeth and sprang forward again, attempting to grab Ren by the hair.

Ren moved effortlessly, silently, and like a dancer he moved out of Ryu's reach and forced another square punch into Ryu's kidneys. The impact was devastating and precise. Ryu howled in pain and dropped to his knees. One of his escaping men tried to help him up but Ryu pushed him away and the lackey carried on running.

Ryu turned with fire in his eyes back to Ren, who was standing motionless, fists raised, just waiting. Horo had only seen this level of serenity mid-fight in kung-fu movies.

Ryu dashed at him ferociously, swinging wildly for Ren's face. Ren blocked the punch effortlessly, and without so much as a change in his expression, swung his leg around in a wide arc and his foot connected with the bloody mess that had been Ryu's nose.

Ryu howled with pain and, clutching his face, he bellowed back into the apartment, "You'll fuckin' pay for this!"

Trailing blood into the hallway, he and his remaining cohorts turned and fled, leaving the broken door swinging sadly on its single hinge.

Horo, still lying on the ground in his state of stupor, mouth now agape with awe, watched Ren hold his stance. Suddenly his eyes glazed over and he collapsed to the floor in a crumpled heap. Like a building collapsing – one moment he was there, solid and unyielding – the next, he was dust.

This finally roused Horo enough for him to make a move. He clambered as quickly as his aching body would allow to sit at Ren's side.

"Ren, are you okay?"

Ren's entire body was shaking, violent jerks almost like convulsions. His knuckles were bleeding, his chest heaving with each frantic breath, and his eyes filled with tears of agony. His skin, which had moments ago seemed completely unmarked, was now littered with innumerable wounds and bruises. It was as though all the injuries he sustained during the fight had converged upon him all at once.

"Ren, please! Talk to me!" Horo pleaded, feeling tears sting at his eyes as all of the adrenaline rushed from his body.

Ren wasn't capable of speech. His limbs moved like jelly as he pawed helplessly at his injuries, with a look so bewildered it almost seemed as though he was having trouble understanding the pain.

"This is my fault…" Horo choked, watching Ren writhing helplessly. "If I hadn't been… if I wasn't…" He cast his teary eyes begrudgingly at the bottle of whiskey, now spilling its contents all over the living room carpet. He was useless. He couldn't do this alone. He swallowed what little pride he had left.

"I'm going to call Faust," he announced, finally.


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12**

A few hours later, Faust stormed into Horo's apartment with a look of thunder on his face. Horo had, with difficulty, managed to get Ren lying down on the sofa, and began seeing to some of his more serious wounds – completely ignoring his own.

Faust had found him kneeling next to Ren, blindly fumbling with bandages and antiseptic cream. The doctor snatched them away with a huff of derision.

"No wonder this sort of thing happens, if you keep leaving your door wide open like that."

Horo didn't even try to argue back. He had attempted to fix the door, but had still left it unlocked. He rested back helplessly on the floor while Faust checked Ren's temperature and blood pressure and began redressing his wounds with a much more skilled hand.

Ren's face was pallid and still – a far cry from the pure rage Horo had seen in his eyes during the fight. He could hardly believe someone so meek had seen away one of the most feared gangs in the neighbourhood, single-handedly. Now he lay in a coma-like trance, not moving, barely breathing.

"You were drunk again?" Faust muttered, his face inches from Ren's as he shone a light into his empty eyes.

Horo looked away in shame. "Yeah…"

"Go and get yourself cleaned up," Faust instructed, without so much as glancing at him.

Horo shuffled off into the bathroom with laboured difficulty. He showered, washing the dried blood from his face and the nasty gash on his arm, then rinsed the smell of stale alcohol from his hair. He took his time, not particularly wanting to return to Faust's disapproving looks and derisive comments. He couldn't close his eyes without seeing the blood-thirsty look of power on Ren's face as he towered over Ryu and his lackeys – a sight that made his very blood run cold and instil in him a very real sense of vulnerability. He forced his eyes wide open as the shampoo ran down into them, burning his irises like acid.

When he eventually plucked up the courage to return to the living room – fully dressed but with wounds still bleeding steadily – he had to do a double-take when he saw what Faust had done.

He had pushed back all of the furniture against the walls, creating a wide open space, in the middle of which he was constructing some unnamed contraption. Ren still lay out cold on the sofa, pushed now to the other side of the room.

"Good, you're dressed," Faust noted, standing from where he was crouched on the floor. He grabbed a bandage from his medi-kit and hastily bandaged Horo's injured arm, making no special effort to avoid inflicting extra pain. "Now, I want you to leave for a while."

"Leave?" Horo started. "Why?"

Faust fixed him with a warning stare. "It doesn't matter 'why'. Just leave me to work in peace for a while."

"Won't you need my help to-"

"I will need no such thing," Faust snapped. He reached into his pocket and dug out his wallet. Fishing out some notes, he tried to push them into Horo's hands. "Just go and entertain yourself for a few hours. I daresay you've been help enough already tonight."

"But-"

"Horokeu, please!" Faust barked, making Horo quiver slightly at the force of his words. "I do not care what you do with yourself, but I need you to disappear for a few hours. Do what you want with the money. Go and get yourself blind drunk again if you have to. Just leave me in peace!" With one last decisive push, Faust pressed the messy handful of notes against Horo's chest.

Horo took them wordlessly, a deep sense of shame falling over him. With one more worried look towards Ren, he left, grabbing nothing but his keys and closing the crippled door behind him.

Upon leaving Ren this time, he felt the absence profoundly. He had spent the vast majority of his life in his own company – a fact that had suited him very well until recently. He supposed he must be getting used to having his charge around. He never thought he'd miss having to worry about someone. His mind was preoccupied with the young man lying unconscious back in his apartment, like he had left something of great importance behind, at the mercy of a madman. Which, he supposed, he more or less had. He fretted about Ren as he wandered listlessly through the hallways of the building.

He realised quickly that he had nowhere to go. His stomach still churned with adrenaline and the remains of the alcohol he had consumed, which turned him straight off food and the otherwise appealing notion of heading to his favourite bar.

He passed by the cinema and the library in a similar fashion, even took a detour past Faust's clinic though he knew it would be closed and empty. He considered dropping in on Yoh at Burger Galore, before remembering that the place had been razed to the ground. It occurred to him that he had no idea where Yoh even lived these days, so it wasn't as though he could just drop in.

He spent the time instead wandering absent-mindedly through the city streets, Faust's money burning a guilty hole in his pocket. He watched the bikes, cars and buses zip by him with disinterest. He noticed how the colour of everything began to change as morning started to rise, and those speeding vehicles became nothing more than tiny creatures inching their ways forward in the rush hour mayhem. He wore no watch to tell the time, and hadn't seen a clock in the city for many miles now – a spiteful trick of the retailers to ensure shoppers lost track of time and wandered blindly into their stores, whittling away countless hours.

It was properly morning when he arrived back upon his doorstep, not even a penny of Faust's money spent. When he had plucked up the courage to enter, he felt an unexpected surge of anger as he saw what Faust was doing.

Faust was crouched over something in the middle of the empty space, furniture still cleared aside. The thing he was studying was Ren, lying prone on the floor with his eyes wide open yet oddly unseeing. The contraption that Faust had been building when Horo had left was now beneath Ren. It was suddenly very obviously a restraint. Ren's wrists were shackled down to the overall structure of the thing, his feet bound similarly at the bottom. A steel rod that connected these cuffs ran along him length-wise, flat along his spine, and kept him gripped at his forehead, waist and knees with tight cords.

"What are you doing to him?" Horo exclaimed, anger boiling over as he charged into the room.

Faust apparently hadn't noticed his arrival, and jolted at Horo's raised voice. He looked towards him sharply, furiously, and put a white-gloved finger to his pale lips.

Horo didn't take the hint. "You can't put him there, he's hurt! He needs-" He stormed closer in order to free Ren, ready to fight Faust to do it, but the doctor grabbed at his wrists before he got so much as a chance. He was unexpectedly strong.

"I've put him there _precisely_ so he doesn't make his injuries any worse," Faust hissed under his breath. "And I happen to be in the middle of a very delicate process with him, so I would _appreciate_ your cooperation in being quiet and removing yourself from my presence!"

Horo did as he was told, but not without a hesitant glance at Ren first. He pulled his arm away from Faust and headed straight into his bedroom. Closing the door quietly, he sank down on the floor with his back against it.

Within a few moments, he could hear Ren's voice reverberating softly through the door. He seemed to be speaking single words, not sentences, and to no one in particular. Every now and again, Faust would interject with a short comment, and Ren would again stream off another bunch of syllables. The volume at which they both spoke and the door between them made it hard for Horo to hear what was being said. He sat in the dark, straining his ears, before his curiosity finally peaked. He slipped back in to the living room, closing the door noiselessly. Faust was too engrossed in the process, scribbling notes furiously into a notepad, to notice Horo slip in and perch gently on the corner of the sofa.

"Yellow… gypsum… tigress…" Ren was chanting, like a disconnected mantra. The blank expression had not lifted from his face, making his mouth movements seem mechanical. Horo couldn't see how it was possible for him to be talking. He still seemed unconscious.

"Yellow; define," Faust murmured to Ren, who began again.

"Arakiel… coadjutant… malignant."

"Ren, do you have a family?"

"Father. Mother. Sister." Horo swore he saw something pass over Ren's vacant eyes as he spoke, though his voice betrayed nothing.

"Do you know your sister's name?"

"Jun."

"When was the last time you saw her?"

This time, Ren did not respond. Faust waited for a few moments before moving on. "When was the last time you saw your father?"

"Seven years, circa. Black as midnight," Ren said tonelessly. A few split seconds passed, and Ren jerked horribly in his restraints. Horo let out an audible gasp as he watched Ren flail helplessly. Faust noticed him then, but was more concerned with Ren's well-being to say too much. The doctor laid a large hand across Ren's forehead, covering his eyelids gently with his fingers. Ren reacted right away to the touch, body falling limp and face growing expressionless once more.

In the same calm voice with which he had been addressing Ren, Faust spoke to Horo without looking at him. "I thought I told you to stay away."

Horo ignored him, transfixed with Ren's flaccid state. "What's happening to him?"

"I've triggered a certain state in him. Think of it like running a diagnostic on a malfunctioning computer. The computer will present you with facts about its present condition and nothing more. The same applies here. It's useful for gleaning information otherwise alien to his other personalities."

"Other personalities?" Horo asked, a lump in his throat.

"Let me ask you: has Ren appeared to become someone else in front of you?"

Horo cast his mind back. Just hours ago, Horo had watched Ren become a child, and then a martial arts master in front of his eyes. Not only that, his behaviour had been erratic since the moment they had met. "Yes."

"Those other personalities are his alters," Faust explained, still scribbling notes. "That's what the programmers call them."

"I'm not sure I'm following. Programmers? Alters? What's the matter with him exactly?"

Faust finally rested his pen and looked towards Horo. "You've heard those science fiction stories – what do they call it? Mind control? The domination of the minds of an entire populace… controlling every thought, feeling and action of any given person? Well, you're looking at the reality of it."

"So… aliens did this to him?"

Faust sighed with annoyance. "No. This is the work of humans. Morally-bankrupt and intrinsically evil humans, but humans none the less. They've broken down this young man's mind and rebuilt it to serve their own corrupt purposes."

Horo churned over the concept in his mind. "How do you even go about doing that to someone?"

"By utilising one of the brain's natural defence mechanisms. You've no doubt heard tales of people who have gone through traumatic or near-death experiences – a car accident for example. Even immediately after the event, the victim can recall absolutely no details of the trauma and the lead up to it. That is how your mind copes with problems like these, it helps you forget so you can carry on with your life as you did before, not beaten down by fear or anxiety. But the memory isn't gone forever. It can be unlocked through hypnotism, use of illicit substances, any number of means. This is because your mind has not 'erased' the memory, but in fact stored it away, in a place impenetrable to your waking mind. And now your mind is what we call 'fragmented'. There is a compartment that you can no longer access. If you had another traumatic event in your life, a separate compartment would be created for that individual memory, and so on.

"Certain people in the government found out that they can abuse this survival skill around seventy years ago. They found that inflicting deliberate trauma on a person would create much the same effect, and they could manufacture these compartments to suit their own needs. They found they could 'password protect' the compartments they had created, and store within it information, skills, any manner of mental and physical advantages, all to bring itself to the surface at the utterance of the 'password', or exposure to a certain colour, symbol, situation, and so on. The combat abilities Ren has demonstrated today for instance, were triggered by his proximity to physical violence."

"So someone's _put _these abilities in his head?"

"Yes. And the personality that harbours these skills exists to protect Ren from certain traumatic memories. For instance, he cannot access either the combat training or the memories sealed within while in his waking state. These sealed personalities are known as alters. Most likely, Ren has little to no awareness of their existence."

"And that 'waking state' – that's not Ren either?"

"That's as close to Ren as you're going to find. A shadow of the person he once was, no doubt. He is kept fraught and highly suggestible, for triggering."

"When you say they caused him 'deliberate trauma', what do you mean by that?" Horo asked solemnly, not sure if he really wanted to hear the answer.

Faust gave him a look that said he wished he hadn't asked, but he continued to explain anyway. "The trauma can vary from victim to victim, but from what I've seen of Ren's physical state, I'd say his conditioning has included starvation, sleep deprivation, physical assault, and most prevalently, sexual abuse."

The bottom dropped out of Horo's stomach as looked down with pity at Ren, none the wiser to their conversation. He could almost be a doll with the minimal signals of life he gave away. To consider what the young man had been through was a monstrous task, and Horo wasn't sure he was ready to comprehend it fully yet.

"But, wait… just the other night, he was telling me he thought he was an angel," Horo mused.

Faust frowned at him intensely. "And you didn't think to mention that to me?"

Horo held out his hands defensively. "You didn't exactly give me chance."

The doctor conceded, realising that Horo was right. "So it's religious programming," he said, turning to monitor Ren again.

"What does that mean?"

"Ren's Handlers – the people who control and program him – have used a religious tale to keep Ren's waking mind allegiant to them. Religion is an excellent tool for selling insane ideas to most people, particularly someone as suggestible as Ren. By making Ren think that he is indebted to them or utterly lost without their care, they ensure his loyalty. It's quite a common tactic." Faust turned his dull eyes on Horo, amusedly. "Doubtless he now sees you as one of them. He thinks of you as a Handler."

Horo was suddenly indignant. "Wh-What? I'm nothing like these people, I've-"

Faust shook his head to silence him. "You're not as cruel as they, but you _have _said something to win the same trust. I hope you realise that this is a very serious responsibility for you, Horokeu."

Horo didn't doubt how serious it was, but he did question whether or not this was something he was capable of being. He had only ever cared for one other person in his life, and that was Pirika. He remembered bitterly how that had turned out. But Ren had chosen him as a guardian, and it must be for a reason. He couldn't betray that level of trust.

"Can you find out who did this to him?" Horo asked determinedly. "He has to have that knowledge stored somewhere, right?"

"If only it were that simple. He has multiple layers of complex programming that could take many years to break. They don't leave the most valuable information near the surface after all. Deliberately messing around in his programming may trigger something unpleasant, both for Ren and for us. This boy's effectively a ticking time-bomb."

"So what do we do?" Horo pressed, feeling more powerless by the second.

Faust studied for a moment. "The best course of treatment is reintegration. That is, working with Ren to bring all of his fractured personalities back into his real self, making him one whole person, if you will. It involves bringing down the walls around the mind's compartments and allowing the waking state direct access to their contents."

"But that means Ren will remember all the stuff that's been done to him."

"Unfortunately, yes. And not all of it will be pleasant. But I believe these are issues we can work through as a unit. You and I have to help him Horo, and guide him through this difficult process. That's the only way we can find out who is responsible for this atrocity."

Horo shook his head in wide-eyed amazement. "You sure know a lot about this. I wouldn't even have known where to start."

Faust was busying himself with freeing Ren from the restraint. "I'm a doctor, what more can be said? I have a particular soft spot for neurosciences."

Horo helped Faust pack up his things and reorganise the living room before Faust woke Ren gently. After he had roused – still beaten, but none the wiser – Faust gave Horo some more instructions for his care and, taking his bags, promised to return soon to begin his reintegration work.


End file.
